


A Mighty Dark Night

by blue_fjords



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crime Fighting, Detective Noir, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 73,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_fjords/pseuds/blue_fjords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Dean Winchester meets Homeland Security Agent Castiel James over a corpse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mighty Dark Night

**Author's Note:**

> I started to write this during the winter break for Season Five. It's been awhile! The original idea for it came to me on the metro (as most of my ideas do) and it grew in the telling, as canon added more and more fodder. Though this is very much an AU. The title, and all the chapter headings, are taken from "Raise the Dead" by Emmylou Harris. On to the story. This is set in the DC metro area. All of the places are real locations. I did once encounter a chalk outline outside the West Hyattsville metro. I really like BBQ at Red, Hot & Blue, though according to rumor, it's not as good outside of the Laurel restaurant. Thanks to betas/readers kel_reiley, paragraphs, qthelights, cassiopeia7, thaddeusfavour and stagiera.
> 
> ETA: emma made an awesome book cover for this story! I am so thrilled!!! Check it out [here](http://emmmija.tumblr.com/post/42983206547/a-cover-i-made-for-a-fantastic-fic-i-am-currently) and leave her all the love!

Chapter I  
I'll never get out of this world alive

Detective Dean Winchester lowered his binoculars and sighed. "Yeah, Rufus, I don't have a clear angle from here. Could be three of them, could be ten," he said into his radio.

"Copy that, Little Winchester," Rufus's voice crackled, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Watch it, old man. No free passes for impending retirement."

"Hard-ass."

"Geezer." Dean smiled tightly at the radio, picturing Rufus on the other side of the house, hunched over his steering wheel. "What do you think?"

"Well, seeing as how I want to live to _reach_ my retirement, I say we move a bit closer, see if we can't get a better idea of what we're facing." Dean grimaced, and Rufus continued. "I know the face you're making right now, son, but we don't have a clue what sort of protection Crowley has with him, and you know it."

"Yeah," Dean grunted. "Who do you have to fuck around here to get some infrared?"

"Uncle Sam, but he don't set foot in PG County."

Dean snorted his assent. "We'd eat him alive," he muttered. "All right, Rufus, I got good cover on the left side of the house. I'm going to work my way closer. Switching to the hands-free now."

"Be careful, kid. I don't want ten angry gangbangers bursting out the back and falling in my lap because you spooked them."

"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming."

Dean shut the door of his battered black SUV quietly behind him and crossed the street. A couple of streetlights were out, and he blended seamlessly into the night in his dark leather jacket and jeans. He made a note to tell someone in Public Works about the streetlights, not that it wouldn't be months before Prince George's County got around to fixing them. His eyes scanned the windows of the houses around him. They were boarded up three houses down, and dark directly across from him. Light blazed in the windows of the house next door to Crowley's lair, burning like demonic eyes in dark sockets, but no shadows passed in front of them.

He glanced around the street once more. Nothing. He ran at a half crouch to the overgrown shrubberies and scraggly trees on the left of the house and caught his breath. Slowly, slowly he raised himself up and peered into the window.

The interior was bathed in gloomy shadows, but he could just make out the outlines of a table and chairs. He crouched and slunk down to the next window. The weak light of a bare bulb illuminated a dirty kitchen with tacky orange and mustard yellow paisley paper plastered to the walls. This room was occupied by four people, and Dean cursed quietly. One of them sat slumped at the table, a knife sticking out of his chest.

"Rufus," he hissed into his hands-free, "I've got three live ones and one fresh-looking corpse. It's Crowley."

"Fuck!"

"Back door leads right into where they are. I'm going in that way; you circle round front."

"Now wait just a minute–"

"Don't argue with me, old man; I can hear your retirement calling. One minute."

He could hear Rufus grumbling, but he pushed it out of his mind and focused on memorizing the layout in front of him. None of the three looked armed. Two were young women, younger than him, and the third was a tall, skinny man, somewhere in his forties. All three, and Crowley, were white. Dean frowned. That was pretty damn weird in this neighborhood, though Crowley had made it a point to deal out of PG County, despite his rich, white clientele.

"Uh, Dean… we're going to have to hold off." Rufus's voice sounded tight and angry in his ear.

"What! Why? Was I not clear about the dead guy?" Dean peered into the window again. It looked like a heated discussion was raging. "They're distracted, arguing. Rufus, we could totally take them if we had to! How else are we going to find out who Crowley was reporting to?"

"Dean, Homeland Security is on the front stoop with me. They're requesting that you block the back door, but they're going in and taking charge of the situation." Dean swore, and Rufus hurriedly continued. "Shit, get ready, boy, they're already going in."

"Fuck!" Dean ran around the corner of the house and up the two steps of the back porch. He could hear a commotion in the kitchen as he yanked the door open with one hand, the other holding tight to his firearm.

Two Homeland Security agents were already in the kitchen, guns still holstered. Dean rolled his eyes hard, and turned his attention to the potential suspects/eyewitnesses/victims. They had ceased arguing, and affected the dead-eyed stares of evening commuters, waiting for the bus. _And why not, with Bert and Ernie just standing there?_ One of the women, a dark blonde with a pixie cut and an indolent expression that looked as if it was permanently fused to her face, gave him a slow wink.

Feet pounded down the stairs, chasing a loud voice into the kitchen. "Nothin' but dust bunnies and old skin mags upstairs!" A third Homeland Security agent, a rather short man with dirty blond hair and a curled lip, bounded into the room. "Whoa, easy, tiger!" he exclaimed, catching sight of Dean's drawn weapon.

The largest of the agents, a black man with the physique of a bear, snorted and stepped closer to the table and the dead man. "I'm sure the police officer is concerned about his safety."

"Concerned about my… Did any of you three chuckleheads notice the big-ass knife sticking out of this man's chest?" Dean shot back.

"We did make note of it," the third agent responded. "And we thank you for your help in securing the scene."

Dean raised his brow. The man sounded completely sincere. He had the most innocent-looking blue eyes Dean had ever seen, and they were turned full-force on Dean. He shifted his feet and looked back towards the three gathered around the dead man.

"You asswipes got names?" he barked at them. They just looked back, standing in various stances of 'fuck off.'

"We'll take it from here, Officer Krupke," the big agent answered for them.

"Like hell you will. This was a homicide on my turf, and I've never seen _you_ before in my life." Through a supreme effort Dean refrained from adding 'you colossal prick' to the end of that line.

The big agent and the blond one exchanged a look, then took out cuffs and set to work. Dean opened his mouth to argue again, but the blue-eyed agent cut him off. "May I speak with you, Detective…?"

"Winchester," Dean answered. He glanced once more at Crowley's corpse. The brunette woman was watching him this time, and her lips curled into a pouty smile when he noticed her. Dean scowled back before turning to Blue Eyes. "Fine, speak."

Blue Eyes led him a couple of steps into the hallway as the other agents began rattling off rights to their prisoners. "I'm sorry you got caught up in this," the man began, and stopped, as if looking for the right words.

"What do you mean, 'this'?" Dean asked. "This is _my_ case." He jabbed his finger into Blue Eyes's chest. "Crowley was middleman on a huge fucking ring, and you're stealing my only way to get to the top dog!"

"That really can't be helped."

"Oh it can't? Why is Homeland Security even interested in the death of a drug dealer?" Dean had to hand it to him, Blue Eyes had one hell of a poker face. He definitely needed a new name for him, though. "And who are you, anyway?"

"Castiel James," the agent answered readily enough, and reached into his tan trench coat to pull out his badge for Dean to inspect, "as I told your partner outside. My partner is Uriel Inger," and he nodded to the big black man, "and we were joined by Gabriel Smecher," he said, indicating the slight blond-ish one.

Dean scrutinized the badge. It was legitimate, dammit all. "And your interest in Crowley?"

Castiel cocked his head and took a step closer. Dean stiffened his knees at the intrusion into his personal space, but he didn't look away as Castiel's voice dropped lower. "You know we have the authority to take these people away with no explanation, Detective Winchester."

"But you're going to tell me something, aren't you?" Dean asked, just as quiet. "Come on, man. Throw me a bone."

Castiel was so close to him Dean could smell his scent, all spearmint toothpaste and something that tickled his memory, but he couldn't place. He was shorter than Dean, but he held himself like a man who expected to be obeyed – or a man who couldn't comprehend that someone wouldn't want to obey him. "You are looking for the man who holds Crowley's leash," he said finally. "One does not exist."

"Castiel!" Uriel's voice interrupted them. "We are ready, brother."

This time it was the male prisoner who smirked at Dean as the three – murderers? Dean wished he had heard what they'd been charged with, probably just Homeland Security handwave – were led past. He flicked his tongue out at Dean, and Dean knew with certainty that he had been the one to stab Crowley in the chest.

Dean was left alone in the kitchen with Crowley's cooling corpse.

***

Dean woke at 5:00 the next morning, feeling groggy and disgruntled. He and Rufus had discussed the situation ad nauseam the night before. Homeland Security's own forensics team had shown up on the scene almost immediately, and they weren't sharing. Dean was sure Castiel's final words had been a clue, but the only things they could hit on were that Crowley was the top man for his operation (which they both found highly unlikely) or that Crowley worked for a female crime lord (though neither of them knew of any dealing in drugs in the area). That left Crowley's three murderers, and they couldn't even agree on that designation. Since Rufus and Dean hadn't seen the crime, the old man maintained the three could just be witnesses or business associates in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dean, however, had been in the kitchen with them, and their creepy silences and insolent looks had convinced him that they were the killers.

What they could agree on, however, was that they needed to know the names of the three, so Dean sent a text when he awoke. An answering message arrived when he was stretching for his run. He smiled grimly and left his apartment, securing his four locks, before heading for the district border.

He lived three miles into Prince George's County, a couple of side streets away from Rhode Island Avenue. He jogged past salons and specialty food shops, EZ Cash Marts and thrift stores until he passed into the District of Columbia. Half a mile further in, he made a sharp right and ran down a small hill. Ash lived in a rowhouse on the cross street at the bottom of the hill, too small to be a letter or a number. He opened the door to his basement apartment on the first knock.

"Beer?"

"It's 6:30 in the morning, Ash," Dean replied.

"And beer before whiskey, always risky. Dude, I've been drinking Wild Turkey _all_ night! It's time for a beer."

"Don't let Ellen know, or she'll fire your scrawny ass for drinking that swill. Give me a water."

Ash shrugged. "Suit yourself, man. The distributors accidentally shipped your aunt a case of Coors Light. She let me have _the whole thing_!"

"Ellen's gone round the bend," he muttered.

Dean followed Ash down the stairs to the basement, through the hall and into his makeshift office. Ash had a mini-fridge in the room, and Dean screwed the cap off a bottle of water and took a long draught while Ash pulled up various screens.

"Okay. Who are your agents?" he asked, reaching around Dean to grab an open bag of Cheetos from his workbench.

"Castiel James, Uriel Inger and Gabriel Smecher." Dean brushed aside a stack of magazines, a spool of wire and several Kit-Kat wrappers to lean against another workbench.

"Weird names," Ash commented.

"Mmm, yeah, Ash is sweeping the nation. If you're a girl."

"Don't be a hater, man! You're asking for my help, and drinking my Coors Light!"

"I'm drinking your _water_. No force in heaven or hell could get me to drink Coors Light."

Ash tutted, tapped a few keys, then rolled his chair through the grit on his hardwood floor over to his mini-fridge. "S'okay; means there's more for me! Maybe I'll ask your cousin if she wants any…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sorry, dude. Jo's not interested; you realize that, right?"

Ash gave him an attempt at a dignified look. It failed. "I am eternally filled with hope. Just the other day, she–"

One of Ash's computers beeped, and Dean was spared the details. "Okay, Dean, looks like all three have been with Homeland Security since its inception, and James and Inger are focused on threats that deal specifically with, damn, Congress." He leaned closer to the screen. "Eh, Smecher's a bit more all over the map. No disciplinary action taken against any of them, no demerits or whatever. Looks like James and Inger have three shared commendations and Smecher one on an unrelated case."

"Great. So they're Boy Scouts." Dean folded his arms across his chest. "Can you tell–"

"Patience, patience. I can get you something on their most recent cases, see if Crowley gets a hit. Just let me adjust a few things."

Dean watched Ash set to work over his keyboards. His brother's voice nagged him inside his skull, admonishing him for stepping over the line, but he told it to shut up. He wouldn't have needed to go around the law if Castiel and his buddies had been willing to share. Dean had his own lines he wouldn't cross, but interagency cooperation deserved the hack, as there was never any actual _cooperation_. He stretched his legs, cooling down from his run, as Ash swore at the screen and his fingers flew over the keys.

"Ha!" Ash announced, and flashed Dean a triumphant smile. "Our government's IT sucks, you realize that, right? This is why you shouldn't have a bank account."

Dean rolled his eyes again. They usually got a bit of a workout whenever he spent much time with Ash. "What do you have for me?"

"Alistair Drac, age 42, Meg Drac, age 21, and Ruby Diavol, age 25. I'm looking up priors now, but it doesn't look like there's an official connection between them and your Crowley."

"Awesome," Dean sighed.

"You working with Homicide on Crowley's murder?" Ash asked.

"Yeah, will be, but it's complicated." He didn't feel the need to regale Ash with his rather checkered history with Gordon, the lead detective assigned to Crowley's case. If he couldn't work with Rufus, he would have much preferred to work with Andy, the most laidback detective on the entire force, or Jake, more of a square but willing to share. But they were both younger than Dean and in Narcotics with him, not Homicide.

"This is interesting," Ash commented after a moment. "You see this thing, Dean?"

Dean peered at the screen. "The big 'CLOSED FILE, RESTRICTED ACCESS' bar?"

"That'd be it!" Ash announced cheerfully. "Both of your ladies have them. This might actually take me a few hours to get through these firewalls. They're not just Big Brother. You still want me to dig, right?"

Dean scratched the back of his neck. "Crowley really doesn't seem worth it, but… you're not planning to do anything else today, are you?"

"Just cut my toenails. But that shouldn't take too long."

"Thanks for sharing. Okay, then, go slow, don't leave any tracks, and have fun. What about the dude?"

Ash tapped the screen. "He's listed as a diplomat. From Romania. Ladies first, then Mr. Drac."

"Thanks, man. I'll leave you to it. Call me later."

He let himself out of Ash's apartment and jogged back to his own place. As it was his designated day off, he was planning to head into the station to catch up on paperwork and see if Gordon was having any luck getting any official word from Homeland Security to help with the solving of Crowley's murder.

He whistled tunelessly to himself as he started up the Impala and turned off his street. He never used his baby on official police business, too much opportunity for disaster and it wasn't exactly subtle or unrecognizable. But for a Sunday jaunt to the station, they'd both appreciate the trip. A large dark SUV began tailing him on Rhode Island Ave, however. Dean frowned at his rearview mirror. It was pretty much a straight shot to the station from Rhode Island, but he turned right, heading in the opposite direction, and turned sharply onto the road that led past the Brentwood postal sorting facility. The SUV followed. Dean went down a back alley that dog-legged onto Bladensburg, ignored the leg and did a three-point turn.

The SUV hadn't taken the bait. Its engines revved as he reappeared at the foot of the alley. Dean felt a trickle of sweat slide down his neck. The interior of the SUV was shadowed. He could see no faces, no guns pointed at him, but why the hell else would it be there? His hand hovered above the gear shift when suddenly a red Mini-Cooper appeared in the cross street and stopped.

Agent Castiel James got out of the car, and a more incongruent choice for a vehicle Dean could not imagine. More importantly, though, the SUV went into reverse, backed down the alley, and disappeared. Agent James rapped smartly on Dean's window as Dean cursed under his breath.

"What the hell?" he snarled, rolling down his window.

"My apologies," Castiel responded. "Were you planning to speak to them?"

"I don't even know who they _were_ ," Dean said angrily. "But they were chasing a police detective. Innocent people don't chase police detectives, you know."

"Undoubtedly. But you were not in a police car, Detective Winchester. Perhaps they weren't looking for you at all, but for the driver of a similar car."

"There _are_ no similar cars, just my baby."

Castiel nodded politely. Dean wondered if the man ever got angry or flustered. He was feeling plenty for the both of them. How had Castiel just happened to be there anyway? Did he know about Ash's search already? He couldn't possibly, but still…

"Why were you following me?" he asked bluntly.

"I wanted to see you," he answered easily. He stared at Dean as he said it, his wide eyes focused on Dean's lips, causing Dean to shift in his seat. The man looked like he was memorizing the placement of Dean's freckles. It was disconcerting. Especially when he followed it with, "I wanted to warn you."

"Warn me? About what?"

"You know about what, Detective Winchester. Be careful what anthills you knock over."

"That it? Walk softly and carry a big stick? Dude, that's my specialty. I do that every day."

Castiel gave him a skeptical look and his eyes narrowed as if he wanted to belabor the point, but something in his coat pocket beeped. "I must go." He sighed and ran a hand through his already messy dark hair, making it stand up on end a bit more. Dean had never had his hair long enough to capture that I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-after-fucking-someone-you-really-wish-you-had-fucked look, but Castiel James could really pull it off. Dean wondered who it had been, or if the man had just been blessed with that head of hair. And then he wondered if he could bleach his mind after having thought about hair for a good minute. "I must return the car to Gabriel and take care of an urgent matter."

"That's not your car? Thank God; I was going to lose all respect for you if it was."

"No, it's not mine," Castiel said. "Gabriel is somewhat of a child at heart." He took a breath and stuck his hand in the window. Dean took it without thinking. A shock ran up his arm and his fingers tightened around Castiel's hand. The agent had a very sure grip, calloused palms and fingers pressed against Dean's own. Agent James was no stranger to a gun, despite his tax accountant garb. He was the same as Dean.

"Be on your guard, Detective Winchester," Castiel said softly, as the strange handshake went on for much too long. "I will contact you again soon."

His other hand came up to sandwich Dean's hand briefly between his, and then he released Dean and strode to the Mini-Cooper, his trench coat flapping in the wind of his passage.

Dean sat staring at where he'd been for a long time after he'd driven away, his hand tingling. Only when he shifted into drive did he remember that he never got a license plate number off the SUV.

***

The station was still hopping from a typical Saturday night, but Dean's section in the back was quieter, all the other Narcotics detectives out detecting. Gordon was out, too, presumably back at the crime scene, but he'd left a strongly worded message requesting the file Dean had for Crowley.

Maybe it made him a paranoid bastard, but Dean decided to copy the file himself instead of handing it off to an intern, and he could really use the distraction after his strange meeting with Castiel and the near run-in with the SUV. The SUV could have belonged to any number of people Dean had pissed off in the past year. In fact, it was an intimidation factor widely employed by the Bender family, a drug-running father and kids he and Rufus had locked up three months ago. He made a mental note to check in with his partner later in the day to see if he'd heard of anyone taking over the Bender territory, and to warn him to be on his guard for a hulking black SUV.

But for now, he needed to clear his head and focus on Crowley. He always thought better when he had something tangible in his hands, the musty smell of paper filling his nose and reminding him of all Crowley's lieutenants and business associates he'd snapped up over the last several months. He felt the familiar taste of bile on his tongue when he got to his report requesting an undercover agent infiltrate Crowley's circle. Dismissed out of hand, and now where the fuck were they? Chasing a phantom female crime boss they knew shit about, that's where.

Dean and Crowley had met face to face exactly once, about a month after Dean's rejected undercover sting. Crowley had a British accent, an affectation as far as Dean could tell, and a perpetually amused expression. He had known precisely who Dean was, had walked into Dean's favorite diner and slid into the booth across from him. No bodyguards in sight, and Dean knew all the workers at the diner. Crowley had wanted to cut a deal, Dean was sure of it, but of course the other man could not bring himself to come out and say it, even while they were alone. Their 'meeting' had lasted for less than two minutes; just enough time for both men to make a first impression: Crowley had brought his own fork to the diner and leaned across the table to snag a bite of Dean's pie. Dean had drawn his gun on him. Crowley had backed out of the diner with the murmured words, "Perhaps I'll be in touch after I've looked into things." Dean had tried to follow him from the diner, but it was as if the man had disappeared into thin air.

Dean had glossed over the meeting in his official file. There was just one line: _Crowley spotted at Tastee Diner, Laurel @ 23:45 2/7/11._ Crowley's murder cast the whole thing in a different light. Fucking office politics. Now he was left wondering if that meeting had signed Crowley's death warrant, regardless of his attempts to keep its meaning hidden.

The copier burped and gurgled and spat out a smudged sheet of pictures.

"Fuck a duck," Dean muttered. He slammed trays of paper around and stuck his hand into the guts of the piece of crap machine. A picture was gumming up the works. With a mighty tug, the crumpled photograph pulled free. He smirked at his copier-fu, looking around to see if anyone had noticed, before dropping his eyes back to the photo. It was Crowley at some charity function, and a little off to the left was a pretty blonde, a few years younger than Crowley, probably closer to Dean's age.

"Holy shit," he breathed. That was a damn familiar smile on her face. He'd seen that smile just last night, gracing the much-less attractive lips of one Alistair Drac. He quickly snapped a shot of the pic with his camera phone, and grinned to himself as he noted just what charity they were supporting. He bet he knew someone who'd gone, and hit the first speed dial on his cell.

"Sammy!" he exclaimed when his brother answered. "Listen…"

***

The two Winchesters met for lunch at Red, Hot and Blue, their joint favorite barbeque place in the area. Dean raised a brow when Sam walked in, wearing a pastel polo shirt and khakis.

"Dude. What the hell?" he asked as Sam lowered himself into the chair across from him.

The tops of Sam's ears turned a deep pink at odds with the soft shade of his shirt. "Drop it, Dean, if you want my help."

Dean grinned at him. Tension began to leak out of his muscles in the presence of his younger brother, as it always did. The waitress followed close on Sam's heels and offered a shy smile and a mumbled request for their order. Dean didn't wait for Sam to open his mouth, just ordered their usual (pulled-pork sandwiches with beans and slaw) and drew out his phone.

"I haven't lost my voice you know, Dean," Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

"What? We're at Red, Hot and Blue. Not like you were going to order anything else," Dean said, shrugging. "Okay, so, you're into that 'Save the Chesapeake' campaign, right?" Dean paused as the waitress came back with drinks. "And you go to the fundraisers and shit?"

"Dean, the Bay gets a health rating of twenty-eight. Out of _one hundred_. Of course I go to the fundraisers."

"Shit, that's pretty low. Here look at this picture." Sam's lips thinned, but he took the phone.

"What am I looking for?" he asked.

"The blonde in the left of the screen. Do you know her?"

Sam was silent for almost a full minute while Dean fiddled with his straw wrapper, stared around at the classic blues and jazz albums decorating the restaurant, and suppressed the urge to strangle his little brother. Finally Sam looked up, his expression solemn.

"I recognize her, but Dean – you have to promise to go careful here."

"What, does she command an army of ninja assassins or something? Who _is_ this chick?"

Sam sighed and handed him back his phone. "Her name's Lilith. And no, I don't know her last name. I don't think she has one, like Madonna is just Madonna."

"Or the Rock is just the Rock." _Madonna? Really, Sam?_

"Dude, the Rock goes by his real name now. He's an actor."

"Eh? Whatever; so this chick is just plain Lilith. Why's she have your panties in a twist?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, but their food arrived then. They were both silent for the next few minutes, arranging their sandwiches and tucking in. Dean kept one eye on Sam, watching the wheels turn in his brother's head until he thought they arrived at some kind of conclusion before he lowered his sandwich and kicked Sam in the shin.

"Ouch! What the hell?"

Dean gave him a quick grin, and gestured at him with his half-eaten sandwich. "I want you to tell me more about this Lilith."

Sam wiped an errant smear of barbeque sauce off his own cheek with his napkin. "Okay, so a few months ago, we got this call at the office from the DA himself. He said we had a special guest in lock-up at our county jail, and he was driving there right now to talk to him."

"Since when do criminals arrange tete-a-tetes with the District Attorney? Just how lax are you over in Rockville?"

"Hear me out, Dean. The 'special guest'? Harry Spangler."

Dean frowned. "Am I supposed to recognize that name?"

"How can you live in this area and not give a damn about politics? He's the Chief of Staff for Senator Ed Zeddmore. Recognize that name, don't you?"

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, I do. Blowhard. So, what, his Chief of Staff got arrested in Montgomery County?"

"He was in a compromising situation with an escort."

Dean gagged on his beans. "Don't paint me a mental picture here, Sammy. I'm trying to eat."

Sam gave him a quick smile. "Sorry. At any rate, I was in with Ballard when she got the call – that Spangler was with one of _Lilith's_ girls. She sent me out of the office to try to find anything on this Lilith, and when I got back in, her face was white as a ghost and she'd let Spangler go."

Dean ran his fork through the last of his coleslaw. "Nobody bosses Diana Ballard around like that."

Sam snorted. "You're telling me. It's good to be in Montgomery County."

Dean grunted. It was an old bone of contention between them, Sam working in the Montgomery County branch of the DA's office instead of PG County, but Dean had pushed for it, trying to keep Sam in the safer location for as long as he could. "So what did you find out about Lilith, then?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. Just that the mere mention of her name strikes fear into the hearts of stalwart DA's. And Ava – you remember Ava from my office? – she heard something about Lilith once. Ava went with me to that fundraiser–"

"Sammy! You dog!"

Sam gave him his patented exasperated lip purse. "It wasn't a _date_. The Chesapeake is the third largest estuary in the world, and it's home to over 3,000 migratory and resident wildlife species. It was a very worthwhile fundraiser!"

"Of course," Dean agreed. "And Ava's cute."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm seeing Sarah, remember?" he muttered. "But anyhow," he continued in a louder voice, "Lilith was at that fundraiser, and Ava told me about this time she was interning in her Senator's office and she accidentally overheard a phone conversation between him and his wife. And the wife was threatening to go to the press if he kept carrying on with Lilith's girls."

"She's a madam for the rich and powerful, then? Expanding her business into drugs with Crowley?"

"Maybe, but I think it's a little more than that. DC always has madams, and they're usually a terribly kept secret. Lilith, on the other hand, I think actually _is_ a secret. Also, you should have seen how people interacted with her at the fundraiser. She'd just go up to someone, introduce herself as Lilith, and strike up a conversation. Within two minutes, whoever she was talking to would sidle away with a queasy expression. She killed that party."

Dean pointed at Sam across the table. "I'll be sure to arrest her for that."

"Dean, I'm serious. She made people incredibly uneasy, plus she's got powerful connections. Be careful with this."

Dean signaled for their waitress to bring the check. "You know me! Hey, you didn't by chance see her interact with Crowley at all, did you?"

Sam frowned. "No," he said finally. "I'm sorry; I don't even remember seeing him."

"Don't worry, Sammy. He made a career out of blending in. Just don't forget to catalog all the middle-aged men at your next fundraiser."

***

Dean left Sam after lunch, but not before teasing him yet again about his pastel shirt (it was apparently a gift from Sarah, and he had worn it to play golf that morning with her father). As much as Dean liked the way Sarah had reminded Sam how to smile again, the woman still had her faults.

Dean crossed the district line and headed to his favorite place in DC, the National Arboretum. It had been a cruel and abnormally snowy winter, and the grounds would take some time to recover. But Dean didn't go there to look at flowers and trees. He parked his car and walked beyond the buildings around the entrance, past the Capitol Columns – the original columns from the U.S. Capitol building – and up a wooded hill. He settled on a familiar worn bench at the top of the hill and looked through the clearing. The leaves weren't all the way back yet and the view was not anywhere near as spectacular as it could be. Still, the Capitol building jutted up in a frame of branches, just visible from his hilltop a few miles away.

Dean's fingers searched restlessly along the bottom edge of the bench until he found what he was looking for: the carved initials MC + JW. His parents had been young college students when they'd met, both from the Midwest and feeling a bit fish-out-of-water in DC. He wished he could remember how happy they must have been, but his mother had died when he was so young, and then his father had completely shut down. Mary Winchester nee Campbell's name was carved into a plaque in the J. Edgar Hoover building downtown, like all other FBI agents who'd been slain in the line of duty, but Dean didn't like joining in with a tour group or begging for a special pass just so he could pay his respects. This bench reminded him more of his mother than cold marble walls could, and it also contained a bit of his father.

John Winchester's name was carved into a plaque, too, but this one was up at PG County Police Headquarters in Landover, though Dean was always stumbling over something of his at the station in Hyattsville: a chipped coffee mug, a classic car calendar from 1999, John's neat handwriting in countless reports. John Winchester had died with an unprecedented number of closed cases. Dean had always thought he would follow in his father's footsteps and join Homicide. But solving his father's murder had changed him. Now he preferred to leave the corpses to others and focus on saving the living when he could. Damn Crowley for dying on him.

He leaned back and let his mind wander to the events of the previous evening. There was something so violently **wrong** about Drac, Drac and Diavol. He couldn't picture them in the custody of a man like Castiel James. Uriel Inger, perhaps, with his name like piss and all the attitude of a steamroller, but Castiel had wanted to help him. Dean scuffed his boots in the still-brown grass as he stretched out his legs. Castiel had stood too close. It was almost protective.

His reverie was broken by the sound of his phone buzzing. Ash's atrocious mullet blinked up at him before a text message appeared: NEW FIREWALLS! WTF?

Dean sighed. Talking would probably be easier, and he pressed the screen to call back. "Firewalls?"

"They keep appearing out of nowhere, man. I'm long since through with the official ones, but these… I don't know. Something's freaky-deaky about them."

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. "So… you want to call it a day?"

"Are you shitting me? I haven't had a challenge like this in years. Years! You want to know what I think?"

"Uh, if it's about my case, knock yourself out."

"Okay, see – well, not literally, since you're not here – these firewalls? They're _like_ government, but not quite."

Dean raised his brow. "And that tells us what, exactly? We have a retired agent protecting these files?"

"Huh? No. I didn't think of that. No, I think it's one of your Boy Scouts, going in all unofficial-like."

"Homeland Security is providing extra protection, and trying to make it seem like they're not?"

"Yeah! Someone really, really doesn't want anyone to crack their files. And the thing about the patterns in the firewalls, the coding? They're a hint as to how this dude was trained, and from what I see, I'd say quasi-government."

Dean's nose itched and he scratched it absently. Everything still smelled damp and musty and slightly wind-chilled, all the markers of early spring. "Okay, then. Go _slow_. And let me know if anything changes."

"Will do. Hey, you seeing Jo tonight?"

"Bye, Ash."

"Wait a minute! I'm sending you something, it's awesome."

"I'm the police, doofus. You can't keep sending me the 900 numbers," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"It's not phone sex! I have other interests – namely, being a badass. Which I'm going to do more of right now, so there!" A loud crash sounded through the phone line. "Shit. Mount Dishes-de-Mustard-Stains just toppled; I gotta run."

Dean's phone blipped and he looked down at the screen, frowning. Ash had ended the call, but sent an email with the subject line 'The Last Boy Scout – not the movie.'

It was all about Agent Castiel James. Dean settled back down onto his bench and scrolled through. Ash had accessed the man's official personnel file, probably the driest thing that Dean had ever read. But Ash was right, Castiel was a total boy scout, and Dean's eyes were drooping by the time he got to the end and a section Ash had highlighted: _Denied meeting w/ Romanian Embassy. Ordered to leave investigation to Task Force. Agreed._ If that was the case, why was Castiel taking Alistair into custody at Crowley's? There was one other thing Ash had highlighted, at the very end of the file: _Seen following this man on his off hours. To what end?_

The hair rose on the back of Dean's neck. 'This man' was _him_. The blue shirt he had on in the picture was currently sitting in his hamper at home. So Agent Castiel James had known very well who he was for at least a week before they'd actually met.

***

Dean pulled over and parked his beloved Impala behind his younger brother's hybrid at 6:27 that evening. Their aunt lived in Mount Pleasant, a little neighborhood just barely in Northwest and two blocks over from her bar and restaurant. The area had gone through a revitalization in recent years, and more and more yuppie clientele had started frequenting The Roadhouse. It was apparently "kitsch," a description that caused Ellen to grind her teeth and plaster on a fake smile, though it was now paying for Jo to get her Master's.

Jo opened the door for him with, "Cutting it a bit close, aren't we, Dean-o?"

"Ash sends his undying love and devotion," he replied with a grin, toeing off his boots.

"You encourage him, and I'm feeding your balls to the rats," she answered in a sing-song voice.

"Guess I better defend your honor, then." He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"Dean here?" His aunt's voice called from the kitchen. "Great, let's eat."

Dean followed Jo down the hall and into the kitchen. Ellen had tasked his brother with getting the rolls out of the oven, and Sam was bent over the hot tray, gingerly picking apart the rolls and depositing them into a basket. Ellen kissed Dean on the cheek and thrust the water pitcher at him.

"Go fill the glasses, boy."

They ate in the dining room for Sunday dinner – 6:30 every Sunday come Hell or high water. The tradition dated back to when Jo was in college, Sam in law school and Dean just starting out as a police officer. Ellen had complained that she never saw them anymore, and had decreed Sunday dinner as Family Obligation Time. And when Ellen set her mind to something, she usually got her way.

The other three followed Dean out with platters of food and the basket of rolls, and the four of them sat down and joined hands around the table.  
"Here's the bread, here's the meat," Ellen intoned. "God-dammit, let's eat."  
Dean huffed a laugh under his breath and reached for a roll.

"So Sam tells me the two of you met for lunch today," Ellen began, scooping salad directly onto her plate.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied, accepting the salad bowl from her and passing it on to Jo.

"One of your drug dealers got killed?" Ellen asked.

Dean shot a look across the table at Sam, who was assiduously avoiding his gaze and poking at the platter of roast beef. "That's the gist of it."

"Dean–"

"Look, Aunt Ellen, I'm not even in danger of breaking a nail. The homicide's not even my case. You really don't have to worry."

Ellen gave him a very level look. "That's good to know. But I was going to ask if you'd pass me the salad dressing."

Jo smirked as the tips of Dean's ears turned red. "Don't worry, Dean, your safety is of _my_ utmost concern. That's why I bought a Kevlar vest to stitch into your Hannah Montana jacket."

Sam cracked up, and Dean kicked them both under the table. The dinner progressed in much the same vein, good-natured teasing alternating with the little insights Jo'd pulled from her forensic psychology textbooks. Dean wasn't sure what would be worse: Jo in school and her incessant need to study aloud, or Jo with her Master's, using it as a means to insert herself into each one of Dean's cases. He hoped she'd be too busy finding a job to bother with him.

He elbowed Sam in the ribs as they did the washing up together after dinner. "You told _Ellen_ about Crowley? You skip law-talking-guy school the day they taught you about confidentiality?"

Sam scowled at him. "I didn't say anything about Crowley! By name. It's just that she asked what I had done today."

"And you didn't want to mention golfing with Sarah's dad?"

Sam sighed and rinsed another plate, mumbling something while the water was going.

"What was that, mumbo jumbo?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder, looking through the dining room to the living room, where Ellen and Jo were changing channels, searching for something all four of them could agree on to watch. "I haven't told them about Sarah yet."

"Really?" Dean thought back to the last few Sunday dinners, frowning. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't recall Sam mentioning his new girlfriend once. "Why the fuck not?"

Sam shrugged and pulled the cord up in the sink. Water made a loud gurgling sound as it began to drain out. Dean gave his brother an assessing look. "Dude, not to get all weepy here, but Jess wouldn't want you to be miserable for the rest of your life. You can admit to liking someone else."

Sam nodded. "I know that. I just… it would… if I told them…"

Dean clasped his shoulder. "I'm done with my psychological insights for the evening. Stop dicking around. Tell them soon. I've seen you with Sarah and it's disgusting. They should have to suffer, too."

Sam smiled slightly. "Thank you, Dr. Sexy. Your insight is invaluable, as always. Amazing, considering."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"No offense, Dean, but you're not exactly Mr. Relationship," Sam said lightly, rolling his sleeves back down.

"I just got a stalker, does that count?"

"Wait, what?"

He shouldn't have said anything. He hadn't mentioned Castiel to Sam earlier, either, almost like Castiel was his personal secret. Which was patently ridiculous; he was just some guy, an incredibly creepy guy who didn't creep Dean out at all. Which was also weird. Still, he backtracked quickly.

"Yeah, see, there's this prostitute, Bela, and she just loves following me around and asking if she could–"

"Okay, don't need to know!"

"See, Sammy, I was just protecting your innocence. Now let's get into the living room before they decide on a design show or something." He ignored Sam's raised eyebrows at that. Of the four of them, Sam was the only one who would willingly watch a design show.

He thought about Castiel as they watched a true crime program. Ellen kept shushing Jo and Sam when they interrupted to criticize the investigation, but Dean tuned it all out. Castiel had been watching him before Crowley's death. Why? He hadn't thought of any reasons while he sat at the Arboretum, except Crowley himself. And Dean hadn't noticed Castiel checking him out, either. He began to cough, choking on his own mental word choice, and Ellen made him drink a glass of water.

No, Castiel hadn't been 'checking him out,' there had been some clandestine reason. Dean just needed to figure it out without letting on that he knew.

Dean left a couple of hours later and headed for home. He checked his cell, but no further updates from Ash, unless a text of "WTF?!@#*&!!!1!" counted as an update. Dean sighed. He wondered if Castiel had anything to do with the added roadblocks on their search. Probably; no one was that guileless and a government agent, and he'd already proven he could be sneaky. He ignored the sharp sting of disappointment and turned on a basketball game, stretched out on his bed, and was asleep in twenty minutes.

***

"Hello?" Dean was awake the moment his cell phone rang, sitting up and flipping open the lid with a quick glance at the number. He didn't recognize it, and he didn't give out the number for his personal phone to anyone he didn't know. "Who is this?"

"Hello, Dean." Despite just two brief meetings, Dean would be able to recognize that voice anywhere.

"Homeland Security, Castiel James. This is my private cell here, CJ. But then, you folks don't care much for privacy, do you? Following people, calling them in the middle of the night." Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair and checked out the time on his alarm clock. 03:12. _Awesome._

"You have looked into my records, Dean. It would appear that privacy is not of great importance to you, either."

Touché. And how much did he _know_ Dean knew? It was too early in the morning for this shit. "What do you want?"

"I want us to work together. We have the same goal."

"And what goal is that, exactly? I'm trying to solve a murder; you're shielding murderers." Dean settled back against his headboard. He should get a new phone.

"No you're not, Detective Winchester. Your duty is to protect people from vices. This homicide is someone else's problem now."

"You're not very diplomatic, are you? Let me be equally blunt. I don't work with people who shelter evil fucks like those three."

"Dean."

"Buddy, it's late, and I have a day job protecting people from vices, as you just pointed out." His thumb slid over the END button.

" _Dean_. I know you are looking into them, too." Dean froze, and Castiel's voice continued. "Please meet me. There's much... there are things I don't wish to tell you over the phone."

"Why?"

"Phones are easily tapped."

"Yeah, I got that, Columbo, I meant why do you want to help me? What's your interest in Crowley?"

"This is much bigger than Crowley. 04:00, Union Station, Gate H." The line went dead.

***

Dean sighed the moment he spotted Castiel lurking beneath the entrance to Gate H in Union Station. The man's tan trench coat practically screamed 'flasher,' and he had no cup of coffee or newspaper to either blend into the crowd or hide his face. Not that there was much of a crowd at 4:00 in the morning.

"Way to blend in there, Vinny," Dean greeted him. Castiel looked back at him, cocking his head as a line appeared between his eyebrows. "Never mind. I'm here; so what's so important? You willing to play ball?"

Castiel took a step closer to him, and Dean instinctively stiffened his knees. The other man didn't seem to notice. "You need to tell your friend to stop trying to hack into restricted files," he said with no preamble.

_Shit, he's going to keep harping on about that._ "Why are they restricted?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Then what the fuck am I doing here?" He turned on his heel and began to walk away.

" _Dean_!" Castiel's voice was sharp and angry. The linoleum didn't betray the slightest squeak before Castiel was at his elbow, holding on with a surprisingly strong grip. "You are here because you want to protect the people you have sworn to shelter. You are here because you crave justice for even one such as Crowley."

Dean stilled. "Then give me something to work with."

Castiel nodded, and Dean relaxed a bit. Just beyond the entrance to the gate, the morning crew at McDonald's was passing back loud jokes, but it was only a matter of time before they focused on Dean and Castiel as the only two prospective customers around. Dean shrugged out of Castiel's grip and nodded his head towards the seats along the wall inside the gate. No one could sneak up on them there, and they'd be fairly hidden from view. Castiel sat down in the seat next to his and leaned over the armrest. Dean could smell the spearmint of Castiel's toothpaste when the man opened his mouth.

"You have a reputation for honesty, for being hard but fair, that stretches far beyond the boundaries of your station and county; do you realize that, Dean? I have… done my homework, as they say."

Dean grunted. It explained a few things. "I suppose that's better than being known as a douche."

Castiel looked at him quizzically. "Yes it is. It is the reason I am approaching you now."

"You need an honest cop to help you… what?"

Castiel looked away from him then, his eyes roving over the pattern in the floor tiles. "I am… trying to find someone. Someone who I believe was calling the shots on the four people in that room."

"You mean Lilith."

Castiel's eyes widened fractionally. "You move fast, Detective Winchester."

Dean smirked. "In some things, yeah. Though I haven't found a tangible connection between her and Crowley, not really. Crowley has never dabbled in prostitution before, despite how drugs and pros always go hand-in-hand."

"We believe this goes beyond drugs and prostitution."

"Who's we? You and your partner? Inger, was it?"

"Uriel feels that Lilith and Crowley were working together, but other than that, he is not particularly concerned. The rest are my own worries."

Dean frowned. "Well, looking at it from that angle, you do have to wonder why Homeland Security is getting involved in the case."

Castiel hesitated. "There are other… things… about the people we took into custody. Please do not ask me to go into details," he said, forestalling Dean's questions. "Suffice it to say they fall under Homeland Security's mandate."

"Are we back to why you need my help now?"

Castiel looked him in the eye. Dean could feel the other man's gaze bore into him, weighing, measuring, finally deciding. "Lilith is much more than a madam. But each time I get close to finding out more about her, something happens. A file is lost. Witnesses renege. A business associate of hers is killed."

Dean nodded with sudden understanding. "You have a mole."

"I don't want to think so, but that is what it looks like, yes." Castiel looked pained, as if the admission had cost him something.

"Look, Cas," the nickname just rolled off his tongue, like he'd always been saying it, "I know how much it sucks to think your fellow cops – or agents – could be backstabbing you, but it happens. You want my help catching whoever it is? You want me to break off my investigation into Crowley's murderers? That's a lot to ask. And frankly, I'm not willing to do it."

Castiel stared at him, unblinking. "Alistair Drac, Meg Drac and Ruby Diavol are members of an Eastern European mafia family. Romanians, Russians, Croatians, Serbians."

"No way. Those groups would never work together." Dean scowled and looked out across the boarding area. _He thinks I'm an idiot after all. Fuck._

"I know, Dean. Lilith has united them. It is… unbelievable. Uriel doesn't believe." Dean looked back at him again, and Castiel wet his lips before continuing. "Do you see how dangerous Lilith is now? She sews chaos amongst our ranks while bonding lifelong enemies together."

Which was a little dramatic, but Castiel clearly believed it. And Crowley… of course he would run with that kind of crowd, it definitely fit Dean's mental image of the man. Helping Castiel was the best way Dean had of finding Crowley's associates. He tried to ignore the part of him that was flattered Castiel had chosen to approach _him_. "Okay. I'll help you find your mole."

Castiel smiled at him, a bright crescent moon that took years off him. Dean smiled back, a little bemused, as Castiel reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a small USB stick. "Some background information to help your hunt," he said solemnly. His hand was cool and dry when Dean plucked it from his palm.

Dean pulled out his phone and speed dialed Ash. "Drop my investigation." He ignored Ash's indignant squawk and hung up.

Castiel nodded at him approvingly. "Thank you, Dean." He rose to his feet. "I'll be in touch."

Dean looked down at the USB in his hand. His phone was ringing – Ash – but he ignored it for now. What on earth had he just signed up for? He checked his watch – damn, he needed to be at work in an hour; there was just not enough time to explore the USB stick. He carefully pocketed it as he rose to his feet, looking around the gate one last time. No lurkers to notice him. Also, no trace of Castiel, as if he had vanished into thin air at the end of their meeting. The thought gave him a strange sense of comfort. _Dude can look out for himself. Good to know._

***

Major Victor Henriksen was in a foul mood when Dean made it into the station forty-five minutes later. Dean could tell from the way his eyebrow twitched. Henriksen kept a firm rein on his emotions. The twitchy eyebrow was a foaming-at-the-mouth fit on any other man.

"Detective Winchester," he murmured, coming up on Dean's left side. "Come with me."

Dean glanced surreptitiously around the squad room as he followed Henriksen down the row of desks. Missouri gave him a sympathetic smile when he passed her and inclined her head towards one of the interrogation rooms. He could pick out Gordon's voice within, and what sounded like… Gabriel Smecher? He stopped in his tracks and looked back at Missouri. She sighed.

"Pardon me, Maj. Henriksen," she said, "but this message came in for Dean during the night shift." She handed him a scrap of paper, pulled on a light spring coat and gathered her bag. "I'll be back on Dispatch tonight." She reached out and closed Dean's fingers around her note. "Good day, gentlemen."

Henriksen nodded to her before turning back to Dean and crooking his finger. Dean waited until his back was turned before rolling his eyes. Sometimes Henriksen was a little too in love with his own authority. He glanced down at the note from Missouri. _DHS taking file from Gordon. Your case? DHS doesn't want Gordon on it. Be careful._

Great. Office politics. _Inter-agency_ office politics. He had a feeling Castiel wasn't behind this.

Henriksen gestured Dean into his office and closed the door. "Sit down, Winchester," he said, lowering himself into his own large armchair.

Dean sat on the guest side of the desk and waited. _Behind the desk. That's a good sign._ Henriksen was the type of commanding officer who felt that leaning on the front of his desk, with his crotch directly in the face of whomever he had "invited in," was the best way to keep unruly troops in line. Dean and Missouri had decided Henriksen must have seen it on a cop show once. But if he was sitting _behind_ the desk, it meant that his ire was directed at someone/thing other than the poor sap directly in front of him.

"So. You want to tell me who that joker is out there, stealing our case?" Henriksen folded his hands together on top of his desk and gave Dean a very bland smile. "Gordon is quite taken with him."

As if on cue, a door slammed down the hall and the sound of Gordon's trademark heavy stomp preceded him into Henriksen's office.

"Major! Some asshole from Homeland Security just turfed my case. _My_ case!" Gordon burst out.

"I think we're all aware," Dean muttered under his breath. Gordon swiveled his gaze to him.

"Winchester," he said with a sneer. It was his idea of acknowledgement. "You're behind this."

"Yeah, because I love letting murderers go," Dean snapped.

"Enough, Detectives." Henriksen's voice sliced through the argument, and Dean sat back in his seat. "Gordon. As you can see I am in a private meeting here." He waited for Gordon to nod begrudgingly and move towards the door. "But as this concerns you too, stay for a moment." _Aw, crap._

Henriksen steepled his fingers on his desk. Dean and Andy had named it the 'Benevolent Dictator' look. Henriksen only employed it when he knew he was going to ask someone to do something they didn't want to do. He braced himself.

"This is what is going to happen. Homeland Security has taken over the _murder_ investigation. We still have an open case on Crowley's drug activities." He pointed at Gordon. "You will grit your teeth and assist DHS with whatever they ask, which, it would appear, is nothing." He turned to Dean. "You'll conduct your narcotics investigation as if they're not even there. Ignore them, and focus on your job."

Dean nodded despite his suddenly dry mouth. Gordon tried to protest, but Henriksen cut him off. "I don't want to hear it, Gordon. Work on your people skills. Dean, find out which of Crowley's lieutenants is going to fill the vacuum. And both of you, get out of my office."

Gordon shot him a venomous glare, and stalked out. Dean rose to his feet.

"Winchester," Henriksen said softly. " _Do_ you know why DHS wants in on this?"

Dean gave him his best innocent look. "No, sir."

Henriksen looked at him quietly for a moment before sighing. "Trust me, Detective. You don't want to be in bed with Homeland Security on this one."

"Yes, sir," he said, schooling his features to stillness.

"Okay then. Close the door behind you," Henriksen dismissed him.

***  


Chapter II  
I've seen a lot more than Hank ever did

Dean spent a frustrating morning on the phone and the computer, trying to track down leads. So much of police work depended on who picked up the phone when, or who was dumb enough to put something in an email that should have never been committed to posterity, it seemed. His most reliable source was a drunk ex-reporter, but Chuck Shurley must have been on a bender, because he never answered his phone. Chuck had an almost preternatural gift for finding out what was happening in PG County and the District. When Dean could get a hold of him, that was. As far as Dean knew, Chuck had no connection whatsoever to Crowley, but that wouldn't stop him from knowing that one vital piece of information that Dean was sure he was overlooking.

He took the USB stick out of his pocket and ran his finger over it. He wondered what type of information Castiel James would consider to be helpful. The man was a bit of an enigma. Dean wanted to strip him bare and see how he worked, label him carefully and place him into the black and white categories he'd made for the world. For all his politeness and calm demeanor, there was something steely about Castiel that made Dean think he wouldn't go easily into Dean's stark boxes, no matter how hard Dean pushed.

His phone rang, and he eagerly reached for it, half-expecting to hear a gravelly voice on the other end.

"Deeeeeeeeeeean. Jimmy Dean Sausage! Jimmy De–"

"Shut up, Ash, you got me on the phone! What's the matter?" Dean blinked, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He hated doing computer research. There was too much opportunity for his mind to wander, and besides, staring at the screen for too long gave him a headache. He'd complained to Sam about it once, and his brother had teased him mercilessly about growing old.

"We-ell. You know this morning, when you went batshit insane and asked me to drop the case?"

"When I _told_ you to drop your little research project, you mean?" Dean glanced quickly around at the squad room. No one was paying him the least bit of attention.

"My little–! Why, I oughtta–"

"You called _me_ , dude. You have something to say?"

"Oh. Yeah. Well, I'm not sure I want to tell you."

"Good, I don't want to hear it. Bye, Ash."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA! Dude, let's not be hasty! They're — wait for it – Ninja Assassins!"

Dean looked at his phone. Surely Ash hadn't said 'ninja assassins.' "I think you got your wet dream confused with the research, buddy."

"Excuse me, I do not have wet dreams about ninja assassins!"

Dean let the silence stretch.

"Okay, fine, I do! But this is totally unconnected. Your two ladies, the Meg and the Ruby – both ninja assassins!"

Dean sighed. "And I suppose you have proof?"

"You bet that tight ass of yours I do!"

"First: don't ever refer to my ass again. Second: I need to use one of your computers anyhow. I'll come by in an hour."

***

Dean leaned over the seat to grab the bucket of fried chicken. He had a feeling his stomach would need the ammunition to get through both Ash's wild theory and his own first look at Castiel's USB. He'd passed Rufus on his way out of the precinct, and told him the Benders might be feeling vindictive, Gordon was on the warpath, Henriksen was exercising his authority, and he himself was going to interview a witness. Rufus had just shaken his head and said he'd cover for him as long as he could.

The door flew open at Dean's first knock.

"Mmm, mmm, mmm, I could smell that fried chicken coming all the way from PG County! Dean Winchester, you are my own personal savior."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Don't push it." He shoved the bucket in Ash's chest and stepped into the stairwell, pulling the door shut behind him.

"I need to just... hang on," Ash mumbled, juggling the bucket and trying to squeeze past Dean to do up all the locks on his door.

"You do realize that someone could just come down the old laundry chute to your apartment from your landlady's place, right? Those locks wouldn't help you then," Dean said, crossing his arms. Ash squeezed by him again to lead him down to his apartment.

"That's why I've got my ball-gripper (patent-pending) in the laundry chute."

Dean shook his head, but couldn't keep himself from smiling, just a little.

Ash's office was filled with the low hum of computers whirring away when they entered, Ash's hand already in the bucket. He took a big bite out of a drumstick and used it to gesture to a large monitor on the left side of the room. "You see that?" he asked around the crunch of fried skin. Grease dripped down his chin. "Ninja Assassins."

Dean leaned to the left, frowned, then leaned to the right. "What am I looking at?" he asked finally.

"Yeah, the quality is shitty. You remember Ronald Reznick?"

"Uh… conspiracy nutjob, right?" _Take that, Sam! I know some current events. The crazy ones, at least._

"Careful, Dean-o. Ronald was a friend."

Dean glanced over at Ash. He'd never seen him look so solemn. Even his mullet looked deflated. Chicken grease spread in a slow stain on his t-shirt.

"Sorry for your loss, dude."

"Thanks, man." Ash gave him a ghost of a smile. "Ronald'd be pleased as punch you remembered him." He cleared his throat. "At any rate, he _was_ a bit into the conspiracies, that's true. He had quite an elaborate security system set up in his apartment – hidden cameras, the whole bit. I always thought there was something fishy about the footage from the night he died."

"His death was recorded?" Dean asked, frowning. No disrespect to the dead, but the chicken was starting to look really good. He dug into the bucket and pulled out a piece. The skin crackled between his teeth. Ash gave him an approving look.

"Damn good chicken. Ronald appreciated the fried chicken." Ash took another bite of his drumstick and began to speak with his mouth full. "His death was ruled an accident – he choked on a peanut M&M. Asphyxiation. But none of his cameras caught him putting the M&M into his mouth, or what he saw to _make_ him choke."

"And you found something in these encrypted files?" Dean nodded his head at the monitor. He still couldn't tell what he was supposed to be seeing.

"Yeah, man. I never knew how many cameras he had going. But this is clearly from a camera I didn't know about. Look." Ash pulled open a long, shallow drawer in his workbench and rifled through what looked like blueprints. Dean's eyes widened. He was sure a few of those buildings had no idea a man like Ash could waltz right in. "Here we are. Ronald's apartment." He pulled out a sheet and laid it down flat on the workstation. "This camera, here," and he pointed to a box marked 'Collectible Figurine Case,' "captured the death. But this footage here," he gestured over his shoulder at the paused scene on the monitor, "came from this angle, here." He jabbed at the blueprint. "That camera was never registered by the police. Now watch." He unpaused the footage.

Dean took a step closer. The view was over Ronald's shoulder, he could make it out now. It was rather surreal, watching Ronald's hand move from the bag of M&M's, stretch out in front of him, and toss a couple of pieces of candy in the air, back towards the camera, only to fly offscreen, presumably into Ronald's mouth. And then–

"Well, I'll be damned," Dean breathed. Two shapes appeared, backlit by Ronald's window. Dean wasn't going to forget Meg's and Ruby's smirks any time soon. It was them, in tight-fitting black leather. _Ninja assassins._

Meg's lips moved.

"Any sound?" Dean asked quickly, shooting a glance at Ash, who shook his head. "Damn!"

Ruby cocked her head, and an expression of possible regret flitted across her features. It was difficult to tell in the grainy footage. She didn't move her feet from her spot, but there was a streak across the screen, and suddenly Ronald's hands were flailing in front of the camera. Dean looked back at Ash. He was staring resolutely at the far wall, away from the monitor. Ronald Reznick and the bowl of peanut M&M's both fell forward into camera range. Bleached-out candies rolled across the floor as Ronald twitched and went still. Meg and Ruby exchanged glances, then ducked out of the window.

Dean laid a hesitant hand on Ash's arm. "Dude?"

"Yeah, m'okay." He rubbed his eyes and then gave himself a great shake, like a dog rising from a lake, and seized another piece of chicken. "Does destroy my ninja assassin fantasy, though."

"Understandable," Dean agreed. "How well did you know Ronald? Did you know what he was working on?"

"What _wasn't_ Ronald working on? I really wish I could help you there but A) conspiracy theorist, he didn't share his sources and B) everything was a conspiracy. I do, however," and Ash flashed him a greasy chicken smile, "have a copy of one of his back-up hard drives. Maybe find something connected to your case there."

Dean hesitated. He _had_ told Castiel that he'd get Ash to drop his search on the restricted files. But if he was looking through Ronald's files, it wasn't exactly the same thing. He grimaced. "Yeah, okay, you start on that. Can I use one of your other computers for this?" He pulled out the USB Castiel had given him earlier that morning.

Ash took it and sniffed experimentally. Dean raised an eyebrow. "It's not a fucking bone, Ash."

"But it is a stick!" Dean rolled his eyes, and Ash continued. "And we don't know where it's been. Use this computer."

He sat Dean down at a desktop, one of his older models, and crossed to a little laptop and a large external hard drive to do his own research. Dean sighed and plugged the USB in. He could already feel a headache coming on.

They were financial records. Dean frowned as numbers scrolled past. Different holdings, different transfer dates – addresses popped up at him for a couple of swanky DC hotels, a few names he recognized as belonging to Crowley's men. _It always comes back to the money trail._ He just wished it wasn't so difficult to follow.

"Hey, Dean, you want a tasty and refreshing Coors Light?" Ash asked.

Dean looked up, a disparaging remark on the tip of his tongue, and froze. Ronald's hidden camera footage was still playing on the large monitor, and a distinctive trench coated figure walked into the frame. Castiel's face filled the monitor as he tilted his head, frowning, and reached up to stop the recording. The screen went dead.

***

Dean drove back to the station stewing in a miasma of his own thoughts. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip whenever they weren't clenched into fists and banging against it.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK, FUCK, **FUCK**!" he bellowed, slamming on the brakes at one red light. A soccer mom in a sleek SUV glared at him through her window, and he bared his teeth and glared right back, adding an extra 'fuck' for good measure.

How could he have made such a rookie mistake? His stomach roiled and the fried chicken threatened to make a reappearance. He went against the express instruction of his commanding officer for what – a pair of blue eyes and a gravelly 'trust me'? What was this, a fucking romance novel? How long had Castiel been covering for Meg and Ruby?

"Dean, you have to drop this case, as I am clearly involved and don't want you to find out," Dean said in an atrocious sing-song voice that sounded nothing like Castiel's gritty growl. "You're a fucking moron, Dean!"

He must have been insane. That was it, he was clearly insane. There had been something in the kitchen that he'd inhaled along with Crowley's dead man stench.

He made a beeline for Rufus's desk as soon as he arrived at work. "Got a minute, old timer?"

Rufus assessed him quietly for a second. "Breakroom?" he asked.

Dean gave him a curt nod and turned on his heel. The breakroom was a bit of a joke. Due to a flaw in the structural design of the station, it was the one place in the building that never received proper ventilation – frigid in the winter, boiling in the summer, and reeking of Andy's sweaty socks year-round. Everyone avoided it, just popping in for a quick cup of coffee that always tasted vaguely of manky cotton and hurriedly backing out again, making it the perfect place for a private conversation.

Dean chewed over what he was going to say. Rufus was his partner and his friend, but there were some things it would probably be best for him not to know. Dean ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the counter, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for Rufus to follow at his own pace.

"Got ants in the pants, kid?" Rufus asked. "Chill the fuck out."

"I'm cool as a fucking cucumber," Dean grumbled. "Okay, look. Hypothetically, man, if someone comes to you from another agency, and it seems like they're on the up and up, but then you see something… and it could, possibly, be explained, but it's still pretty bad… and they might be covering up their involvement in something… and you maybe sort of shouldn't be talking to them in the first place…" God he sucked at hypotheticals. No wonder Castiel said he was an honest cop; he couldn't spin a story to save his life. "Um. If you weren't sure you could trust this person. What would you do?"

Rufus snorted. "First off, stop trying to get into her pants."

Dean blinked. "That's – that's really not what's going on here, Rufus."

Rufus raised a disbelieving eyebrow and poured himself a cup of coffee. "If you say so. Look, Dean, if you want to know if you can trust this person, you need to find out about her past."

Dean squirmed. _Would you stop saying 'her'? Fuck, this is so messed up._ "I don't–"

"You don't what? You don't nothing. She's with another agency, she's going to have a history. DC is the smallest big city in the world. You still got that buddy with the feebs?" Rufus asked, taking a sip from his mug and making a face.

"You're missing a prefix, old man," Dean muttered. It was good advice. He took a calming breath. "Let me call her; see if she knows anything. And dude," he reached over and plucked the mug from Rufus's hands, "don't drink that shit. Andy's socks, man. Andy's socks."

***  


Chapter III  
I've done the down and out in every dark end dive

Dean met Special Agent Anna Milton at a hole-in-the-wall bar in Georgetown a block or two from her place. She had already ordered the first round by the time he found a place to park his Impala for what, he assumed, would be the night.

"Dean," Anna said brusquely when he slid into the booth across from her. She had, of course, chosen the side that gave her a view of the entire bar, leaving Dean with an obscured view of the back hallway.

"Anna," he returned the greeting, and took a long drink from the beer she'd bought him. Amusement danced briefly in her dark blue eyes.

"To what do I owe this honor?" she asked lightly.

"Honor. Yeah right," he mumbled. He placed his glass on the table. The low lighting in the bar couldn't permeate the dark depths of the beer, and the glass sat there between them with all the grace of a brick. "Look, Anna, I want to ask you about somebody, but I don't…"

She let his voice trail off. After a moment she huffed a sigh. "Sometimes I really like it when you dispense with the foreplay, Dean, but sometimes… well. You want to ask me a favor and you don't want to give me one in return. Is that right?"

"Ahhhhh." He ran his finger around the lip of his glass. When Anna chose, they went to places that served beer in glasses. When he chose, it was bottles. Or a can from his fridge before fucking on his couch.

"It's lucky you're such a good lay, Dean, or I'd leave you here," Anna said finally. Dean looked at her then. She met his gaze head-on. Anna had changed since switching government agencies. She was harder now, her brittleness more apparent. But maybe that was just to him. After all, he'd known her when she was still starry-eyed and breathless with the prospect of serving her country. Sometimes, he missed that Anna. He took another draught of his beer.

"Back when you were with Homeland Security," he began. He was watching for it, or he wouldn't have caught the quick flicker of regret in her eyes. "Did you ever work with an agent by the name of Castiel James?"

Anna sat back in her booth. "Castiel. Really? How'd you meet him?"

"Over a corpse."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And what do you want to know about him?"

Dean took a deep breath. "Can I trust him?"

Anna tapped her finger against her glass as she stared at him. Dean met her gaze and waited. "Come on," she said, rising abruptly to her feet and pulling some cash out of her wallet. "Come on," she repeated. "My place. Then we'll talk."

Dean took a final swig of his beer and followed her out into the street.

***

Anna used the minimalist approach to decorating. From his position in the middle of her king-size bed, he could see all the walls of the loft apartment. Two pencil drawings of birds' wings, and one very long painting of an albatross, wings outstretched, were the only decorations. She didn't even have a TV. The bed pretty much made up for that, though.

Anna padded back over to the bed, carrying a glass of water. Dean took a moment to admire the sheen of sweat on her bare skin before she flicked the comforter aside and sat down, leaning against the headboard. Her mussed red hair was virtually the only color in the apartment, and he couldn't look away.

"Castiel," she said, and sighed. "We went through much together, he and I. We worked in the same department, yes, but for you to truly understand, I will have to go back further." She took a sip of her water. "Castiel and I were classmates at Georgetown," she began. "Although at the time, he was studying accounting and I was going to do social work. We met – don't laugh, Dean – at Chess Club." She smiled against the lip of her glass, and he deemed it allowable for him to smile, too. _Chess Club?_

"He was never a big talker. But we used to plot different strategies, re-enact famous games… I can tell you want to laugh."

Dean leaned further back into the pillows and looked up at her. "Hey, I have Sam for a brother. I have no problem with geeks."

"Hmph." She smiled at him. It was dark in the apartment, the bedside reading lamp providing the only light, and shadows played across her face. Anna had delicate skin and was frequently mistaken for being ten years younger, but as Dean watched her smile slowly fade, he was reminded that she was actually a few years older than him. She looked away from him, focusing on the albatross painting, and the shadows looked like bruises around her eyes. "We kept in touch after graduation, and through grad school. We both got our Masters' in May, and then. 9/11." She paused and Dean debated being supportive by placing a hand on her knee, but then she continued.

"We both joined Homeland Security the moment it was formed. Castiel was working for the government already, something in allocating money for various committees, and I was with the Red Cross before DHS. And then…" her voice trailed off again. Dean waited expectantly and tried not to let his impatience show.

"We were looking into this group based in northern Virginia. We thought they were funding a terrorist cell in Arlington – they were, by the way, and we caught them – but during our investigation, strange things kept happening."

"What sort of things?" Dean asked, raising a brow.

"Information that was securely stored in an encrypted database one night wouldn't be there the next morning. Informants changed their stories. Someone was getting to them. A meeting of the Oversight Committee was called, and we were all investigated. The case was eventually dropped because we caught the cell, and the inconsistencies were written off as DHS growing pains."

"And… what? You think _Castiel_ was sabotaging the case? Because I don't see what you have against him, Anna." Dean scowled at her, then tried to smooth his features when she looked at him.

"He didn't stand by me, Dean." She set her glass of water on the nightstand with a hard thunk. "The investigation was centered on _me_ , because I didn't have the same training as everyone else, I looked at things differently, I wasn't part of the Boys' Club. And Castiel just let them pick me apart. Always did what he was told, the good little soldier. I was his _friend_. I should have come first!"

Dean laid a soothing hand on her thigh. "Hey. That sucks, Anna, and I'm sorry you had to go through that, okay?" He used his elbow to leverage himself up into a sitting position. "Did you ever suspect _him_ , though?"

She shook off his hand and slid out of the bed. Moonlight and shadows striped her skin as she paced the length of the bed and back. Dean felt a little twinge of desire. Anna had never been shy about nakedness and she moved with an unselfconscious grace. "Castiel lacks the imagination for such a deception," she said. "No, if anyone was actually interfering in the investigation it would have been one of the others. Uriel, Gabe, Raphael. Even Zachariah. Or Mr. Joshua, he was directing the goons from the Oversight Committee."

"Huh. Uriel and Gabe were at… the crime scene where I met Cas." Dean frowned. "Who are the others?"

"Raphael Finnerman. He started at the same level as the rest of us, but he has this combination of charisma and spinning worthless info into dire pronouncements that always made him look good to upper management. He now supervises the others and much of the DC office. Zachariah Adler had that position back then – now he's Number Two for all of DHS." Anna stopped pacing and sat back on the bed, tucking her feet beneath her. She fixed him with a look that Dean remembered from years ago, all wide open eyes and stubborn set of her mouth. "Dean. You can't count on Castiel to watch your back. If you're mixed up in something that goes as high as Zachariah? You'll need my help."

Dean reached out and cupped her cheek. "I don't know anything yet." _Except that you have a bone to pick with DHS and it's more personal than I thought._ "Thanks for the offer." _And if someone with authority told Cas to retrieve a tape from a crime scene, he would do it. For the fucking greater good._ "I'll keep you abreast of the situation." He slid his other hand around her small right breast and gave it a slight squeeze. Anna's lips quirked in a tiny smile. _Yeah I'm proud of that pun, what of it?_

Anna pushed him back into the mattress and straddled his hips. He watched her through heavy lids as her thighs flexed and her back arched. The albatross painting on the far wall gave her wings and the moonlight touched her coppery hair in a halo, but no angel ever made noises like that. Anna was a grunter, not a gasper. No soft mewling sounds, no breathless whispers of his name. And when he reached up to twist a nipple – "You fucking bastard!" she grunted, and leaned down as he shoved up. Her fingernails clawed at his shoulders as she came, and after two more thrusts, he followed after.

Her thumb dug into his neck as he came down from his orgasm. That was the other thing about Anna. She'd watch him very closely at strange moments, a slight wrinkle on her brow as if he was a puzzle she was trying to figure out. It was unnerving. Her eyes watched him now, not with lust, not with love, and he had no idea what to tell her. They weren't lovers, not in the sense that they loved each other; she wouldn't appreciate a casual "I love you" and he wouldn't lie to her. If only she didn't look so damn _expectant_. He ran his hands over her shoulders, flipping her hair off them to fall down her back, and continued down her arms and hands before dropping them and settling at her waist. He gently lifted her off him. Anna wasn't a cuddler, and Dean could feel her crawling off the bed before he heard the light slap-slap of her feet heading to the bathroom. He was asleep before she got back.

He dreamed of Cas.

It was very hot in the dream. Cas's dark hair was soaked with sweat and a rivulet glistened down his outstretched neck to drop with a sizzle onto the floor. They were in a warehouse, empty but for the two of them, and Dean noticed with a start that he wasn't reacting to the heat at all. Cas's plain white button-down clung to his chest and his dark pants sculpted themselves to his legs. Dean stood there, gaping at him, as he fell to his knees. "Dean!" Cas rasped, and Dean looked around wildly.

"Hold on, Cas, I'll get ice or something!" But the warehouse was completely empty. The walls began to close in, the air grew more stifling, and Cas moaned.

"Dean!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't know how to fix it!" Dean babbled, and then literally wrung his hands. Cas looked up at him through long dark lashes.

"It's your dream. You can fix anything."

"No! I can't!" The ceiling began to fall, too, and Dean crouched on the floor.

"Dean, please," Cas mumbled, and Dean reached out a hand. Cas's skin was slick with sweat and burned the palm of his hand, but Dean brought his other hand up to cup his cheek.

"Is that better?" Dean whispered. Heat radiated from Cas's body, up through his hands, aiming right for his heart. Cas stared up at him, blue eyes wide and unblinking. Dean couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he shifted on the floor anyhow, sitting now, and Cas moved closer until he was practically in Dean's lap.

"Thank you," Cas said softly. His body spasmed suddenly, and Dean moved his arms down to wrap around the other man. "I don't know why it was so hot. I don't know how you weren't affected."

"This is my dream, remember?" Dean smiled. "I can fix anything."

Cas smiled back up at him. Dean could feel Cas's breath on his own face. Their mouths were so close together.

Dean woke with a start. _Oh my God, what the fuck was that?!_ He was rather forcibly reminded of an uncomfortable week fifteen some odd years ago, after his only, very male, friend at the time had tried to kiss him and sent him into a tailspin of sexual identity crisis. He'd worked that out rather spectacularly with the Van Allen sisters, twin blondes prone to fits of giggles. But now his rather unexpected erection was begging for attention. He stubbornly ignored it. Anna was curled into a ball on the far side of the bed. Dean rolled gingerly to the end of the mattress and reached for his phone to check the time. 5:34, and five unread messages from Castiel James. He ignored them, as well. It wasn't too early for a shower. An ice-cold shower.

Dean attempted to rationalize his erotic dream while in a frigid shower, but his body had other ideas. He finally decided he'd have to attend to matters and tried picturing Anna's red hair and pale skin, but Cas's blue eyes kept intruding. He could still feel the heat from the other man's dream body, and it was with the mental images of Cas's lips and hands and eyes that he came with a groan. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK._

He wanted to slide right down the drain, but a knock roused him. It was from Anna's front door. He'd left his gun on the nightstand. He hastily wrapped a towel around his waist and glanced around the bathroom, looking for a spray can or something. Anna's hair products were all these environmentally-friendly, wouldn't harm a fly shit. He grabbed the plunger instead and yanked open the bathroom door.

Anna and Homeland Security Agent Castiel James, fully dressed complete with that accursed tan trench coat and quizzical expression, turned to stare at him.

"Something you want to tell me about my bathroom, Dean?" Anna asked finally, eyeing the plunger.

"Uh." Dean flushed. His skin tingled from the force of Cas's stare, and he devoutly hoped that the other two would chalk up his red face to being caught near-naked while holding a plunger and not to the fact that he'd just jerked off to a mental image of Cas, while trying to think of Anna. "This is a little awkward. I didn't know who'd be at the door, if you'd need… wait, what _are_ you doing here?" He couldn't look Cas in the eye, but he managed to turn his face towards him.

"I was looking for you," Cas replied. Anna made a noise, and Dean looked back over at her, for the first time noticing that she was wearing his discarded t-shirt from the night before. He wanted to hide her behind him to prevent Cas from picking up on what had happened between them, an utterly ridiculous notion.

"You were looking for Dean? At my apartment? How'd you know he'd be here?" Anna scowled. The t-shirt hung like a muumuu from her slight frame. She left the _"You didn't come to see me?"_ unsaid.

Cas shifted uneasily from foot to foot, but lacked the social graces to blush as he answered. "Technology can be too easily broken or commandeered. I had an informant I use sometimes follow you instead when you didn't return my calls."

Dean scowled. He could feel Anna stiffen beside him. Neither of them had noticed a tail last night. _We're the fucking Keystone Kops._

"Well, now that you're here, what was so damn important you had to march up here at the butt crack of dawn?" His voice sounded harsh even to his own ears, and he scowled harder.

"Some information has come to my attention, and I believe you should know it," Cas said calmly. His eyes never left Dean's, and Dean realized with a start that Cas hadn't looked at Anna once since Dean came charging out of the bathroom.

"Then let's hear it." Dean really wanted to cross his arms, but that would look ridiculous with the plunger (and why was he worried that Cas would think he looked ridiculous?). He settled for gripping the plunger at either end, like an axe, avoiding touching the rubber head.

For the first time that morning, Cas looked a little discomfited. "Dean," he said, and stopped. The meaning was clear to all involved: Cas didn't want to say anything in front of Anna. The silence dragged out until it was broken by a tinny version of _Ode to Joy_.

"My phone," Anna announced. She gave Cas a dark look and deliberately reached out to grab Dean's head and kiss him before hunting for her phone. Dean looked back at the other man. He couldn't quite place the expression on Cas's face – not embarrassment, but maybe jealousy, only Dean couldn't tell who he was jealous of – and Cas quickly smoothed his features. Anna's voice sounded low from the other end of the apartment.

"Looks like you win, Cas," Dean said. "What did you need to tell me?"

Cas took a step closer to him, frowning. "I take no pleasure in interrupting you and Anna. She and I may no longer see eye to eye–"

"Yeah, that's great, Cas, but I don't want to discuss my sex life with you." _Especially since I just jerked off to the idea of your hands on my dick and your mouth on my neck, which, believe me, was weirder than a six-headed cow._

"Fair enough," Cas said, inclining his head in a slight nod. "We've heard rumors from… sources… and I believe that Lilith's people are going to try to affect an escape for our three prisoners."

"How?" Dean asked quickly. "Where are you keeping them?"

Cas visibly hesitated and Dean ground his teeth. Loudly. "Dammit, Cas, how do you expect me to do anything about it if I can't reach them?" he hissed.

"You know I can't tell you that!" Cas whispered back.

"Then why tell me at all?! Why drag me into this in the first place if you only give me enough to interest me and then pull the rug out from under me?" He dropped the plunger and crowded Cas back against the door, bringing his arms up on either side of the other man, and he had to take a moment to focus. He was talking about the case here, not Cas himself. He wasn't starring in a fucking soap opera. "And while we're on the subject of trust, you mind telling me about your involvement in the murder of Ronald Reznick?"

Oh, crap. He hadn't meant to let that slip. At least not in this situation, when he was naked and knew so little.

Cas pulled away from him. "You said you stopped trying to hack into those secure files."

"Dude, you covered up a murder."

"And you lied, Detective Winchester." Castiel was staring at him like he was seeing him for the first time, and he didn't like what he saw. Dean shivered. "And that situation was not what it looked like. Why do you think I didn't want you to see it?"

"You should have just told me, Cas," Dean said softly, looking down.

"Why would you believe me?" Cas flicked his eyes over Dean's partially naked body, over the rumpled bed, over Anna in Dean's t-shirt, still muttering into her phone against the back wall. "You've made up your mind. I'm sorry to have bothered you with this." He turned to leave.

Dean's arm shot out to stop him, fingers twisting in the coat. "Cas, wait. You can't just–"

"Yes, Dean, I can." Cas's fingers were cool and dry as he plucked his coat from Dean's grasp. This time, Dean let him go.

He closed the door quietly behind him and looked over at Anna. She raised her eyebrow, but continued her conversation. Dean leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. He had no idea how to help stop the possible prisoner escape and to top it off, he'd let Cas get away without a good explanation, and _he_ was the one feeling guilty.

***

Dean parked his Impala in the Hyattsville Police Department lot two hours later and leaned forward to rest his head against the steering wheel. Tuesday morning. How could it only be Tuesday? He slammed the door when he got out, then paused and laid a hand on the hood of the Impala. "Sorry, sweetheart," he whispered.

Missouri was waiting at his desk when he got in. She was wearing her jacket and an exasperated expression.

"Dean, we need to talk," she said before he could even open his mouth. "You're buying me breakfast," she continued, herding him towards the door, "so chop-chop."

Dean just shrugged and went along with it. There was no arguing with Missouri. It helped that she was always right.

Missouri marched him right past the parking lot and a couple blocks along to the brewery. It didn't open for a few more hours to anyone except Missouri. The owner let them in and disappeared back into the kitchen. Missouri grabbed Dean by the elbow and steered him over to a booth.

"Okay, Dean, first thing you need to know," Missouri started with no preamble, "is Gordon's got himself a fresh homicide on his hands. If you ask _me_ –" she stopped abruptly. "You had sex last night, didn't you?" She sniffed the air over the table. "I can _smell_ her fancy body wash on you."

Dean grimaced. "Uh, can we get back to the dead body?"

"Dean. Was it that Anna girl again?" She gave him a disapproving little glare. "She's an odd one, you know." He raised his brow at her and she pursed her lips. "Don't you give me that look, young man. Fine, you want to know about the homicide?"

"That'd be awesome, yeah." One look at her face had him adding a hurried, "Ma'am."

The owner of the brewery shuffled out of the kitchen carrying two full plates of scrambled eggs, home fries, bacon, toast and syrupy peaches and placed them wordlessly on the table.

"Thank you, Joseph." Missouri gave him her sunniest smile, but he just nodded and slouched away, moving out of earshot behind the bar to restock baskets of pretzels. Dean tucked into his breakfast, suddenly ravenously hungry, as Missouri resumed talking.

"A call came in a little after 1:00 in the morning from a woman on a cell. She said she was outside the West Hyattsville Metro and heard some gunshots." Dean looked up from his plate, and she shook her head. "No, she couldn't recall clearly the number of gunshots, and she also fled the scene. Didn't wait around for a patrol to get there. Anyhow," she paused, licking her lips, and peered into her empty coffee cup. "I don't suppose," she muttered, and Joseph returned to their table as if conjured there by Missouri's desire for coffee that didn't taste like Andy's socks. "Ah, thank you, you dear man," she cooed up at him, flashing her dimple.

"So," she started up when Joseph left them again. "You know that little AME Church across from the metro? When the squad car pulled up – it was Max and Scott–"

Dean snorted, spraying bits of home fries, and Missouri frowned at him and took a sip from her coffee.

"Dean Winchester, you give those boys a chance! Just because they're… different–"

"Is that what we're calling it?" Dean interrupted, swallowing his bite of potato. "Max is a control freak who can't take an order, and Scott's got that whole thing with cats that I don't even want to know about, but hey, everyone's got their quirks."

"Hmph," Missouri sniffed and fiddled with her fork, a tell that Dean recognized. He hid his smile in a bite of fluffy scrambled eggs. Missouri agreed with him. "Anyhow, when they arrived on the scene, the victim was crawling towards the church. She'd been shot three times. Scott tried to help her while Max secured the scene, but the poor girl died right there. And here's the thing, Dean." She leaned across the table and pitched her voice low. "The vic? Was a Homeland Security Agent."

Dean's heart stopped in his chest before flip-flopping and taking up a fast pace as he realized it couldn't possibly be Cas; he wasn't a she and besides, Dean had seen him just a couple hours ago, alive and disappointed in Dean. _But still not telling me everything._ He cleared his throat harshly.

"Which agent?" he asked.

"An Agent Rachel Steele," Missouri answered. "Was she–?"

"No connection to the Crowley case," Dean said, leaning back in relief and then sitting up straight. "At least as far as I know." He scowled down at the tabletop. "And how does Gordon get jurisdiction in this?"

"Because that Agent Smecher who stole the Crowley homicide from Gordon arrived at the scene and called him straightaway. You need to rethink her connection to the Crowley case, because Smecher certainly seems to think they're related."

"I thought he didn't want any police interference with their precious DHS investigation," he murmured. Oh, his headache was definitely growing. Expanding, taking over the state of Maryland, encroaching on the Capitol right about now. "And wouldn't DHS want to look into the death of their _own_ agent?"

"That's just it, Dean. They found shell casings at the scene. And those shell casings? Were from a DHS-issued gun."

***

Dean dropped Missouri off at her house after picking up the Impala, then sat in her driveway for a moment, his mind reeling. There was too much going on in his head.

_Okay, Dean. Start with the facts._ His father's voice was deep and calm in his ear. He smiled to himself and pulled a notebook out of his glove compartment, flipped to a blank page and started in on a diagram.

  
**Ronald Reznick** \---------- Meg  & Ruby --------- _Cas_  
(conspiracy theorist, choked) ----- 1st Death

**Crowley** \------- Meg, Ruby  & Alistair -------- _Cas, Gabriel, Uriel_  
(drug dealer, stabbed) -------- 2nd Death

**Rachel** \--------- unknown ----------- _Gabriel – handed off to Gordon_  
(DHS Agent, shot) -------- 3rd Death

Dean paused and tapped his pencil against his mouth, then started in again.

  
Circumstantial Evidence  
Crowley w/ Lilith @ charity  
(Lilith uniting criminal elements ----- re: Cas)  
(Lilith = Madam w/ Congressional ties ------- re: Ava _Sam friend_ )

Financial records  
(payouts from unknown accounts to Crowley lieutenants ---- supplied by Cas)

DHS  
(extra encryption on 3 suspects in Crowley murder – supplied by former DHS???)  
(3 suspects to attempt escape TODAY ------- re: Cas ------ WHO TO HELP? TO WHERE?)  
(Dead Agent ------- shot w/ DHS gun – stolen? WHY IN PG COUNTY?)  
(MOLE --------- Who? How much do they know? Who do they report to? Why?)

He needed more information on the dead DHS Agent. The _murdered_ DHS Agent, on his home turf. He clenched his fingers around his pencil. There was a reason why he preferred Narcotics to Homicide. There was no way he could save a dead woman. Crowley, Ronald, Rachel – they were beyond him now. He should cash in his chips and just focus on stopping the tide of drugs into his jurisdiction. That was his damn job, after all. _But what about the mole?_ his conscience chided him. _Would you leave Cas unprotected?_

"Cas left and doesn't want my help anymore," he muttered out loud, then winced. _And now I'm talking to myself. Awesome._

His radio crackled and hissed, and then Gordon's slow drawl filled the car.

"Winchester."

Dean made a face and picked up the radio. "Gordon."

"Do you have anything to report to me on Crowley?" Static fizzed and screeched for a long minute before Dean could bring himself to answer.

"Report. To you," he said through gritted teeth. "Last I checked, I don't report to you."

"That's right; I doubt no one has bothered with telling you," Gordon said, and Dean could hear his chest puff out over the radio. "I am taking the lead in an investigation into the death of a Homeland Security Agent."

"Good for you, Gordon. Making a tasty meal out of the crumbs Gabriel Smecher gives you, eh?"

Dean could hear the sound of fists slammed onto a desk and files falling to the floor. "You mark my words, Winchester. You keep up this attitude and you'll end the same way as your old man."

Dean's blood boiled in his veins and he gripped the radio tight enough to imprint it on his palm. "I'll take that as a compliment," he hissed. "Now get the fuck off my radio."

Gordon growled at him, but the static went dead. Dean turned the key in the ignition and put the Impala into reverse, his pulse still racing. There was just something about Gordon's smug voice. He peeled out of Missouri's driveway and headed toward the West Hyattsville metro.

The metro station was only a five minute drive from Missouri's, two minutes at the speed he was going, and he parked the Impala in the long-term parking instead of closer to the crime scene. It was still getting worked over, a couple of uniforms standing guard, including Scott Carey.

Officer Carey frowned at him as he walked over from the lot. Dean gave him a version of his charming, I'm-really-only-here-to-help-you-and-eat-pie smile and glanced at the chalk outline. The agent had been shot in the back, falling forward to crawl towards the church, it appeared.

"Morning, Carey! Busy one for you, huh?"

"Um, Detective Winchester…" Carey's voice trailed off. Dean almost felt bad for him, as the desire to be helpful to a detective warred against what were surely Gordon's directives to keep everyone else out. Dean took in the dead woman's blood stains still splashed across Carey's uniform, and had no need to fake the sympathy in his voice.

"I heard you put in a heroic effort here, Officer. You're an honor to our precinct."

Carey stood up a little straighter. "Thank you, sir."

Dean nodded to him, then looked back over at the chalk outline. "Such a shame," he murmured. "Cut down in the line of duty."

"She wasn't on duty," Carey said, then looked stricken.

"Returning to her family, then," Dean supplied smoothly, and Carey couldn't help himself.

"She lived in Alexandria. Old Town."

"Ah." Dean let the silence stretch a moment. _No getting to Alexandria from the Green Line. What were you doing here, Rachel?_

"Um. Detective Winchester?" Carey finally asked. "How come you're interested? I mean, how come Narcotics is here?"

Dean gave him the look he reserved for addicts considering a plea bargain. "Things aren't always what they seem, Officer."

"Yes, sir." Carey nodded vigorously. "It's just, she was supposed to be transporting prisoners, and I didn't think…"

"Rachel spoke to you?" Dean interrupted. _Holy shit! She's hip-deep in the Crowley case. Fuck._

"No, it was that other agent." _Gabriel Smecher._ Carey looked down and scuffed his feet in the gravel. "Rachel just… she was already… and I couldn't… Jesus, a woman, my girlfriend'd kick my ass for saying it, but somehow her being a woman makes it worse…"

Dean gingerly laid a hand on the other man's shoulder. If Sam were here, Carey'd be sobbing into his shirt and laying out his life story. Still, he hadn't done too badly. "It's part of the job, Carey," Dean said. "It sucks, but now you and Gordon are going to find who did it and bring them to justice. And you'd do that if she was a dude, too." _Or something like that._

Carey took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. Dean's eyes wandered over the crime scene. The killer could have easily stayed hidden in the clump of trees across the street from the church, if he knew Rachel was going to come this way, or he could have followed her along the road from the metro. It was impossible to tell if she was being chased. Dean would have to check out the station and, as it looked like Gordon's car pulling up behind Carey, now would be a good time to leave.

"Anyhow, just wanted to drop in and offer my support," Dean lied smoothly. "Keep up the good work." He patted Carey's shoulder once more, a bit awkwardly, and walked quickly away before Gordon could join them.

Dean ignored the sound of Gordon's voice yelling indistinctly behind him as he moved swiftly down the road towards the station. His eyes roamed either side of the street, picking up nothing unusual, as his mind processed the information he'd gleaned from Carey. Rachel was helping with the transport – to who, where? Another agency? And why were they moving them in the first place? Were the prisoners in league with Lilith, or was Crowley?

The whole thing was utterly ridiculous, he decided as he swiped his metro card and headed for the escalator to the train platform. He wasn't Ronald Reznick, to see conspiracy around every corner. But what reason would Rachel have to be all the way out here? He glanced down at his phone out of habit, just in case Ash (or maybe even Cas?) had called. Nothing. His eyes widened. That was exactly it. She was going to a meeting, he'd just been too caught up in Cas's tip about the transfer to focus on the who of the situation instead of the what.

Gordon or Gabriel Smecher would have already grabbed the footage from the West Hyattsville cameras, but Dean doubted they would have checked out the ones from Fort Totten yet, the stop before and a transfer point to the Red Line. There was an off chance Rachel would have transferred there. Dean boarded the next train in the direction of Branch Ave and tried to think of who she would be meeting in PG County. His ears popped as the train dipped deep underground. He gazed unseeing at an ad for the University of Phoenix as a possible, very unwelcome, idea occurred to him.

Crowley had done all of his business out of PG County. It wasn't such a leap to think that one of his lieutenants would do the same. And if Rachel was corrupt, and going to meet this person…

The train rose up out of the tunnel and clattered to a stop at the lower platform of Fort Totten. Dean stepped off the train and pulled out his cell, hitting the speed dial for Cas. It blipped and went to voicemail. Cas's message was stilted and long and endearingly awkward. Dean rolled his eyes and tapped his foot, waiting for it to end.

"Cas! Listen, call me back, okay? Your Agent Rachel Steele – I have some thoughts on her murder. Just call me." He stashed his phone back in his pocket with a growl. Cas better not be blocking his calls just because he was pissed at Dean. This was way too important.

Dean glanced around the platform, packed with commuters running just a little bit late, and noted the camera angles. He ran up the stone steps to the next level, the ground floor. The station manager looked up as he approached the booth, and Dean flashed his charming smile and his badge. Technically, he had no jurisdiction in Fort Totten, as it was directly over the border, but lines could get easily blurred.

"Good morning, ma'am," he greeted her. He peered at her nametag. "Ruby." _Damn, another one?_ Ruby gave him a flat look. He probably shouldn't have gone with the 'ma'am'. "That's a beautiful name." Her overly-made-up eyes narrowed slightly and he hurried to continue. "I'm Detective Dean Winchester, from just over the border. I bet you've heard all about the incident outside West Hyattsville Metro," he said, lowering his voice and leaning in, and she inclined her head, a spark of florescent lighting masquerading as interest in her eyes.

"Terrible tragedy," she said in an inflectionless voice, and made to leave her booth, her bottle-blonde hair whipping behind her. Dean stepped in her path.

"Exactly so. And my colleagues are working with your colleagues, checking out footage from the security cameras, interviewing people, that sort of thing. I was just wondering if you'd let me take a quick look at your footage, just to check a hunch. They'll be by later today with the warrant."

He held his breath, and tried not to look like he was holding his breath.

"Maybe you're not all incompetent buffoons," she said, eyeing him up and down. Dean had to struggle to resist reaching for his gun, but thankfully she turned on her heel and led him through the 'Employees Only' door before he could formulate a scathing retort.

"I already talked to Duane, he was doing the night-shift there last night, and he said the dead woman must have got off the last train, so that got me thinking." She unlocked one more door, revealing a closet-like room and out-of-date security equipment. "I already gathered up the tapes. This one here," and she laid one lacquered nail on the top tape, "shows the platform for the last train in the direction of Greenbelt. Even you should be able to see _something_."

"How extremely _kind_ of you, Ruby. With helpful citizens like you, it's amazing there's any crime at all." He picked up the tape and glanced around. "Where can I watch this?"

She snatched the tape out of his hands, muttering under her breath, and shoved it into a machine underneath the only blank monitor in the little room. They both leaned towards the screen.

Nothing happened for the first two minutes, except for a low grinding sound, which Dean eventually realized were his teeth. Two girls wearing University of Maryland sweatshirts over their clubbing clothes tripped off the escalator and staggered down the platform, arms linked and mouths open in wide, drunken grins. A little old lady followed thirty seconds later. A group of five boys in their late teens, jeans falling halfway down their asses and boxer shorts spilling out, paused in a clump at the foot of the escalator, yelling up it to a group of three teen girls, their huge earrings registering as sparkles on the security footage. And then–

"There's your damsel in distress," Ruby pointed out. "Duane sent me a pic."

Dean grunted. So much for a secure crime scene. On the screen, Rachel hesitated after walking slowly down the stone steps, eschewing the escalator. Dean frowned. The escalator blocked the view of the steps from two-thirds of the platform. The camera only showed one angle. Rachel's face ducked back out of camera view. Dean swore under his breath.

"The train shows up in twenty seconds," Ruby whispered. Dean watched as it arrived at the station and slowed, the doors snapping open. Dean's eyeballs were practically glued to the screen. At the last second, Rachel ran forward and climbed aboard. And ducking into the metro car behind Rachel's was a tall, bulky figure in a sport coat.

Dean's sense of relief was palpable. He hadn't even realized he'd been so afraid – _No, anxious. Or, better yet, annoyed._ – that he'd see a long trench coat following Rachel. The figure on the screen could very easily have belonged to Uriel Inger, but no way could it be Castiel James. Or Gabriel Smecher, for that matter.

Ruby was staring at his face. "Well, Kojak?"

"Thank you very much for your assistance," he said in his best official voice. "A detective Gordon should be calling you for those tapes – best to let him think he was the first to contact you. Make him feel competent."

She nodded, a slight smirk on her lips, and moved aside to let him slip past her. He hurried out through the back office and out into the station, pulling out his phone.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath as he waited for it to connect. It blipped once, then Cas's voicemail came on again. "Dammit!" he swore. A harried-looking mom pulling her kids behind her gave him a nasty look, and he scowled back. She picked up her pace, hustling her kids away from the crazy angry dude.

Dean reached into his coat pocket, fumbling until he found Cas's business card. He stared at the card for a long moment. There was no help for it; he'd have to call his office number. And try for subtlety. He grimaced, and punched in the number.

"Detective Dean Winchester," Uriel's rumbling bass sounded in his ear, and he temporarily froze. "What is your business calling this number?"

"Agent Uriel Inger," he replied. "Just hoping to hear your melodious voice."

"On Castiel's phone?" Uriel chuckled. "I don't think so, Winchester."

"Oh, is this Castiel's number? I thought you all shared one line over there. You know, DHS, one big happy family, friendship bracelets and all that jazz." God, he really needed to learn how to censor himself.

"I have no idea why he likes you so much," Uriel grumbled into the phone, and Dean's pulse quickened, much to his annoyance. "You'll have to find another way to talk to your dear Castiel."

"He's not there?" Dean interjected.

"No, Winchester, I'm looking right at him, but he wrote me a note saying he didn't want to talk to his boyfriend anymore, and could I cover for him," Uriel snapped. "Of course he's not here. He's out doing his job. As you should be."

The line went dead before Dean could retort with a clever comeback. "Yeah, well, you're a murdering, double-crossing mole and I'm on to you, freak," he muttered anyhow. It felt good.

His phone vibrated in his hand, and his heart lightened to see 'CAS' in the display. "Where the hell have you been?" he greeted him.

"What?" There was a lot of background noise coming from Cas's phone, competing with the overhead rumble of a train on Dean's end.

"Never mind. Look I found out some stuff about Rachel–" Dean started at the same time Cas said, "You shouldn't be calling me; they'll be able to find you."

"Who's looking for me?" Dean asked.

"Lilith's people, I think. Wait, how much do you know about Rachel?" Cas asked.

"Lilith's people? I'm getting nowhere with that case! It's your mole I've found!" Dean protested. There was a pause from the other end.

"Dean. Keep your voice down," Cas whispered and Dean's knees stiffened.

"It's a fucking phone, Cas. I'm not yelling it to you across the city."

"You may as well be." There was a lot of ruffling on the other end, and Dean frowned. Where the hell was he? "I was supposed to meet an informant this morning, and she never showed. I believe I've been compromised."

"Jesus, Cas! Where are you? I'll come get you." Dean started pacing. Should he go back to the West Hyattsville Metro and get his car, risking a run-in with Gordon, or hop on a train, placing his bets on the questionable efficiency of the public transportation system?

"No! They probably already know where you are." Static crackled and ate some words. "–it's just a mole on my side anymore." _Fuzzzzz._ "–trust your fellow cops? Rachel's death – there are too many inconsistencies."

"Well, fuck, Cas, that's a cheery thought." His eyes roamed the station. He didn't recognize anyone. But if there was a mole in his department, too, his money was on Gordon, the fucking prick. Or Walt and Roy, now they were a couple of douches. At any rate, they weren't there. There were a handful of people at SmartCard stations, adding money to their metro cards, and a couple of tourists gazing slack-jawed at the metro map, but the bulk of the commuters had moved on. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. "Where are you? Look, man, I don't even care about the Reznick thing anymore." _Well, mostly. Partly. You can explain it later,_ "I just want to get you safe–"

There was a muffled thump, followed by a slapping sound, then Cas's breathless voice came back on the line, "No time, Dean! They've found me, and they'll be after you!"

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Dean hissed loudly, panic rising. Static wreaked havoc with the connection. Dean thought he heard a moan. _That does it. Fuck caution._ "Cas! Cas, stay away from Uriel! Don't trust Uriel!"

Dean heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting hard-packed earth, and then Cas's rasp, intercut with static, "Dean…button…pond…"

The line went dead.

Chapter IV  
Well dying young I have survived

Dean swore at his phone in a blistering tirade and went running for the pay phones. There were still a couple in each station, thank God. Cas's number didn't even go to voicemail, as he expected. He dug in his pocket for change, found another couple of quarters and dialed Sam's number.

"Sammy! Listen, I need a favor…"

His brother met him in a small park on Wisconsin Ave. Dean liked it because of the view it offered (on a hill – he could see all approaches) and Sam liked it because of the view it offered (the long street winding down the hill to all the little specialty shops Jess had liked and dragged him to, before).

"Okay, Dean," Sam said, joining him at a bench. "So what is this about?"

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean glanced over his shoulder. "You weren't followed?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Aren't you going a little overboard with this cloak and dagger business?" Dean just glared at him, and Sam continued with a sigh. "I wasn't followed. Dad taught me how to evade a tail, remember? Not a lesson I could forget."

"Sorry, man. Maybe I'm just being paranoid with this, but…"

"Nah, I trust your instincts," Sam interrupted. "You think you're being followed, someone's following you. You sure you don't want to bring in any of your cop buddies, though?"

"Yeah. I told you man, I have no fucking clue which of them I can trust." His fingers tightened around the edge of the bench. "Okay, here's the deal. I've been working with this dude from DHS, and – we had a bit of an argument. But then I found out some, uh, stuff, and it didn't seem to matter as much. So we were on the phone, he was being paranoid, but then there were these noises on the other end of the line." It sounded lame, even to his ears. _I was worried about this guy I think may have been lying to me for this whole investigation, let's drop everything and go help him. And I totally jerked off to him this morning, too._

"Uh. Noises?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fight noises. And then he got cut off."

"So… you want to help him anyway?" Sam was giving him that look now. It was the _I know something about your psyche that you haven't figured out yet_ look. Dean hated that look.

"He knows stuff about the Crowley case he wasn't telling me. That's all." He hoped he kept the whiny defensive note out of his voice. He hoped he didn't sound sick with worry.

"Uh huh. Do you have any idea where we could find him? Or what's left of him?"

Dean glared at him. "At the end of the call, he said something about 'button' and 'pond.' Dude, we've lived here our whole lives. Do you know any Button Pond, _anywhere_ around here?"

Sam was already nodding. "Yeah, sure. Button Gwinnett, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. The names are all up at the pond/pool thing, right by the Mall off Constitution Ave."

Dean's mouth fell open. "You are such a nerd! How do you remember this shit?"

"Dean, the man's name was 'Button.' Button! Why wouldn't I know that?"

"Whatever." Dean shrugged dismissively, already chivvying Sam along. "Come on, let's get to your car."

Sam rolled his eyes, but they both surreptitiously checked the bushes and path back to Sam's…

"Sam! What the hell happened to your car?" Dean gaped, momentarily distracted by the pink Cadillac and 'I brake for Early Bird Specials' bumper sticker.

"Um. Sarah's broke down, so I loaned her mine, and her friend Evelyn let me borrow her car. Just get in," Sam muttered.

"Dude, it's practically a boat. And what does it run on, Mary Kay rejects?" Dean yanked open the passenger door and slid in. Still, the backseat was huge, and if Cas was hurt in any way… he scowled at the thought. He checked his sidearm while Sam drove, then he checked his messages again. Nothing. His foot started tapping. Sam drummed his fingers on the wheel and chewed his lower lip. Dean schooled his features, bracing himself for Sam's eventual questions.

"You really like this guy, don't you?" Sam asked softly.

"Yeah, Sammy, I want to invite him to the prom. We're going to wear matching powder blue tuxes and hold hands," Dean answered, keeping his voice light and scoffing.

"I'm serious, man." Sam scowled, and slammed on his breaks as an Ohio plate cut them off. "Damn tourists," Sam muttered. "Look, I'm _glad_ you've made a friend. You aren't exactly the most amiable fellow."

Dean stared at him. "'Amiable fellow'? Who are you, Jane Austen?"

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

"So, what, I'm getting penalized for spending time with my family?" Dean grumbled. He looked down at his phone for the one hundredth time, willing it to ring. He'd entered Cas's name next to his number already. Number nine on the list. _What does that say, that a man I've known not even three whole days is only the ninth number I've called on this thing? And I added him to speed-dial?_

"Hey, I like hanging with you. I just think–"

"Time's up, Sammy! Turn up 20th and park this beast." Sam shot him a dirty look, but did as he was told. _Good boy._

Dean hopped out of the car and waited impatiently for a break in the line of cars whizzing across Constitution Ave. Sam stepped up next to him. "So what does he look like?"

"Big, dark blue eyes," Dean replied without thinking. Sam's eyebrows crawled up almost to his hairline. "Can it, buddy," Dean continued, flushing. "I'm a detective, remember? He's, uh, a couple inches shorter than me. Perma-stubble, dark hair, cleft chin, tan trench coat, wiry build."

The string of cars stopped as the light changed, finally, and they ran across the street.

"Where's this Button thing?" Dean asked, his eyes roving the grounds. No Cas, but no Uriel, either. A gaggle of toddlers tripped and waddled by, chubby fingers gripping their teacher's leading rope.

"Across that little bridge there." Sam nodded to a tiny island in the pond, and they both sped up. Dean's heart sank as they moved closer. Unless Cas was crouched down behind the stone monument, he was definitely no longer there.

Their feet thudded across the wooden bridge.

"Dean!" Sam grabbed at his arm. "Look!"

There was a broken cell phone on the ground to the far right. Dean knelt down beside it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he said under his breath. His eyes darted frantically around the island. "Shit," he hissed as a familiar figure stepped onto the bridge. "Behind me, Sam."

Sam gave him a startled look and didn't move.

"Detective Winchester!" Gabriel Smecher's voice called out to him. "And who's this handsome behemoth? Employing a bodyguard now, are you?"

"What the fuck are you doing here, Smecher?" Dean growled, moving in front of his brother and ignoring what was undoubtedly a pissy look from Sam. Smecher's eyes lit on the broken cell in Dean's hand.

"Where's my brother?" he asked, all traces of levity gone from his voice. He stood up straighter and fixed Dean with a piercing look. For the first time since Dean had met him, Gabriel Smecher actually looked like a law enforcement agent.

"I should be asking you that," Dean said, and Smecher's eyes narrowed.

"No. No, not me." Smecher looked away, frowning. "I needed… it doesn't matter. I'll find him later." He gave Dean and Sam a mocking bow. "Return to your regularly scheduled program, gentlemen. Adieu."

He turned on his heel and strode away.

"That was weird." Sam frowned after him.

"Yeah, come on." Dean hit him lightly in the chest. "We're following him." He began to move quickly back across the bridge.

"Ow. And why?" Sam asked, easily catching up to him.

"Because there's something fishy with that prisoner transfer, Smecher's in charge, and he's got bubkis for back-up." Smecher was also parked across Constitution, good. "He was looking for Cas to get his help since Rachel bit it last night."

"Oh, that's great. We're filling in because everyone else got killed?"

Dean stopped abruptly and Sam almost fell over him. "First. Cas is not dead. He's missing. And second, you are staying in the car. You're a lawyer, not a cop. We get to wherever it is, and you wait for me. Is that clear?"

"Dean–"

"Clear? Or I'm stealing those keys and following Smecher by myself."

Sam shifted from foot to foot, then sighed. "Okay, fine. Clear."

"Good." Dean looked over his shoulder. Smecher hadn't noticed them. "Smecher drives a red Mini-Cooper. That barely qualifies as a car. But he'll be easy to follow, come on."

***

Smecher stopped by a vacant lot on the edge of Chinatown. The area had undergone a massive renovation project over the past ten years, but he had somehow managed to pick the one empty building on the block. Dean ran a hand over his face. It was still a crappy place to keep prisoners, more like a safe house than a prison. Huh.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said, pulling out his cell and calling his brother's number. "Just keep your phone on. If I sound like I'm in trouble, you know–"

"Charge in after you, swinging my fists?" Sam suggested, answering his cell and sending up an echo.

"No, dipshit. Call 911." He ignored Sam's pissy expression and climbed out of the car. "Remember your promise, Sam," he said, half-turning and fixing his little brother with his best impression of their dad. Sam nodded, his face softening a bit.

"Be careful."

"Careful's my middle name." He flashed a cocky grin over his shoulder, and waited for an answering smirk before turning back to the building. They'd parked outside a noodle shop four doors down from the vacant building and its weedy, overgrown neighboring lot. Dean glanced surreptitiously at the other parked cars along the street. Smecher's Mini-Cooper stood out. An old clunker, an SUV and a white van occupied the other side of the street. The bright red Mini-Cooper was sandwiched between two black SUVs that just screamed 'law enforcement' over on Dean's side of the street.

"Okay, Sam, I'm going in." He slid his phone into his coat pocket and heard Sam's muffled, "You better come back out in one piece."

The doorway gaped open, the right-hand side of the door missing. It used to be an apartment building, and Dean grimaced, thinking of all the small units with even tinier rooms inside. Perfect for hiding. He took a breath and drew his sidearm.

Dean crept noiselessly through the foyer, eyes roaming over water-damaged walls and scuffed tiles, his ears pricked for the slightest noise. He froze at the sound of something crashing, shattering, on the floor above him. It was followed by a definite scream.

Dean spotted the door to the stairwell and ran to it, forcing it open with his shoulder and cursing when it rebounded loudly off the wall. He took the steps two at a time, slowing at the top and emerging, gun first, into the second floor hallway.

Whispers scuttled down the hall like so many dead leaves. He blinked rapidly and tried to focus on their source. There was a broken window at the end of the hall, in the back of the building. Perhaps it was responsible for the shattering he'd heard earlier. He moved cautiously forward.

A gust of wind rippled down the hall, and Dean froze again as doors on broken hinges flew open at its touch. All except one, the one in the back right corner. He darted into the room on its left and made his way quickly through the apartment to the window leading out onto a fire escape. His nose wrinkled. The place had obviously been used by squatters, and he pushed up hard on the window, releasing the stench of stale sweat and the sickeningly sweet odor of pipe smoke. Hashish, he noted with detached professionalism.

The fire escape creaked beneath his weight. He crouched low and picked his way carefully to the next room, raising slightly above the windowsill to see inside. _What the fuck?_

His three prisoners were indeed there, but they didn't look much like prisoners. Alistair, Meg and Ruby were standing, uncuffed, over the groaning body of Agent Gabriel Smecher.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Dean's eyes widened as Agent Uriel Inger strode into the room, trailed by three agents he'd never seen before. Uriel stuck a meaty finger in Alistair's face. "You've gone too far, boy!"

Alistair chomped his teeth and Uriel drew back his hand and slapped him across the face. Dean winced. Uriel had quite the backhand.

"Enough!" Ruby broke in. "He's not going to join you, and you know it, Uriel. Would you _really_ rather do something about it yourself? Like you did with Rachel?"

_Holy shit, he_ is _the killer!_ Uriel took a step towards her.

"I had her well in hand. She would never have reached Winchester." Dean started, his mind skipping frantically along the connection as Uriel continued to bite off his words. "Instead your genius partner killed her with a DHS weapon. And now Winchester's sniffing around. I am displeased."

Ruby shifted her feet and Alistair shot him a nasty look, but it was Meg who responded, sticking her lower lip out in a petulant sneer.

"We didn't tell Brady to do that, you moron. Jesus! What do you take us for?"

Brady, Brady. He'd just seen the name somewhere, recently hadn't he? One of Crowley's... _The payoffs!_

"What do I take you for? Chaff." Uriel smiled wide, and Dean's shoulders gave an uneasy twitch. "And I only need one of you." He raised his gun, and Dean could tell even from his perch outside that it wasn't the same, DHS-issued gun he'd sported back at Crowley's murder scene. Beside Uriel, his cronies took aim. "Unfortunately, you two ladies died trying to escape, catching Agent Smecher in the crossfire."

Ruby backed away, hands raised. "We had a deal, Uriel. If you want Lilith, you need us. All of us."

"I don't think so. Isn't that right, Alistair?" Meg gasped and turned on Alistair as Uriel trained his weapon on Gabriel, still groggy on the ground. "Kill the ladies, I've got Gabriel."

_FUCK_. Dean stood just as the door to the apartment crashed to the ground. He had only a moment to register a bloody Cas striding in, gun extended, before all hell broke loose.

"Call the cops, Sam!" he yelled towards his phone, and fired a shot at Uriel's arm, shattering the window. He missed, as Uriel twisted to take on Cas instead. _FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!_

Ruby was already running out of the room towards one of the apartment's bedrooms, two of Uriel's cronies in pursuit. Meg and Alistair were fighting each other with their fists, hissing insults back and forth in a language Dean didn't recognize. The remaining crony fired at Dean, and he ducked more falling glass.

"You should have joined us, Castiel!" Uriel roared, leaping forward with surprising agility for such a large man. Dean's heart caught in his throat as Uriel's paw knocked aside Cas's gun. Cas was already so damn bloody; what had Uriel's men done to him?

"We don't bargain with terrorists, have you forgotten?" Cas grunted back, falling to his knees. Alistair and Meg collided into the crony aiming for Dean, the three of them going down in a pile of fists and kicks, and Dean got a lucky shot off at Uriel's shoulder. It clipped him, and he turned with a snarl, firing at Dean. The shot went wide, as Cas launched himself at Uriel's legs, pulling him off-balance.

Dean knocked aside the remaining shards of glass and jumped through the window, only to land on his ass as Meg leapt at him. His head hit the ground, just inches from the unseeing eyes of the DHS Agent that'd been aiming for him moments ago. Alistair stepped on his hand, hard, and Dean dropped his gun with a curse. Meg laughed and dug her knees into his chest. Before Alistair could stoop to collect the weapon, however, Gabriel revived himself enough to sweep Alistair's legs out from under him. Gabriel rose on unsteady feet and pulled his own gun.

"Gabriel! Behind you!" Cas choked out. Uriel had an arm across his throat and his gun trained on Gabriel's back. Cas's face was growing darker and darker, and Dean felt a bloodthirsty rage infuse his limbs. He threw Meg off his chest. She went flying into the wall, hitting it at a weird angle, and fell, still.

Time seemed to slow as Dean took in the scene. Had he just – had he just _killed_ Meg? Alistair was staring at him, hatred in his eyes, despite the fact he had sold her out to Uriel less than half an hour ago. Gabriel was looking from Alistair to Uriel, trying to gauge which was the biggest threat. And Uriel was still choking the life out of Cas, Cas's feet drumming the floor.

"I will deal with you, boy." Uriel's eyes cut to him, full of the promise of his death, only to open wide in surprise. Blood trickled out of his mouth and his arms dropped Cas and his gun. Cas fell to the floor with a gasp.

"Not if I deal with you first, traitor," Anna said grimly, shoving him off her long knife. Dean stared at her, uncomprehending, but Gabriel didn't waste time.

"Come on, Anna. We still have this one." He held his gun steady on Alistair as Anna picked her way through the debris, pulling out her cuffs. Alistair bared his teeth at her in a parody of a grin, and she casually backhanded him. He slumped at her feet, a gray stain against the weather-beaten wooden floor. Anna's red hair brushed the yellow FBI on her blue jacket, the colors popping to Dean's eyes. It was so surreal. How was Anna even there? He shook himself and hurried to Cas's side and knelt beside him.

"Cas? You okay?" Cas hissed in pain when he touched him, and Dean gritted his teeth as he tried to gently wipe at the blood at Cas's temple. Sirens sounded from outside.

"What took you so long?" Gabriel asked Anna. She arched an eyebrow at him.

"You wanted this to be _official_ , Gabriel. There are certain protocols, you know." She turned to Dean and Cas. "You sure know how to pick them, Dean. That man–"

"Leave off, Anna," Dean cut in harshly, sliding his arms carefully around Cas to haul him upright. She narrowed her eyes, but Gabriel spoke first.

"Look, Dean-o. Uriel's going to have arranged for Rachel's death to look like Castiel's doing. Can you stash him somewhere for a week or so while I unravel this mess?"

"Of course I can. What are you going to do about Lilith?" Cas was leaning against him, his breath coming in ragged pants against his neck, and Dean found it a little hard to focus. "Ruby, did she get away?"

Gabriel glanced into the other room. "Fuck, she took out two Agents. Turncoats, but still."

Footsteps sounded in the hall below, voices calling out for identification – FBI and DCPD.

"You need to get him out of here, right now. Use the fire escape," Gabriel commanded him. "I'll be in touch, just GO!"

Dean was already moving to the broken window, half-carrying Cas. He spared one last glance at Meg's crumpled body, and then they were outside. A patrol car blocked the end of the narrow alley between the apartments and the building next door, a restaurant.

"Sam? Can you hear me?" Dean whispered.

"Jesus, Dean! You all just – so many laws – dude!" sounded from his coat pocket.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll explain later. Help me get Cas out, all right? Kitchen of the place a few doors down from the noodle shop."

He could hear Sam grumbling, "Cops everywhere, fucking disbarred," but Dean tuned him out and concentrated on getting Cas down the fire escape. His eyes were a little glassy and his breath came labored and loud. His hand was tight around Dean's neck, though, and they stumbled to the ladder.

"I'm going to go down first, then you drop and I'll catch you," Dean told him. Cas just nodded, eyes drooping. "Hey, you with me? You okay?"

"My brother just tried to kill me. How do you think I feel?" Cas gritted out. Dean recoiled.

"Shit, Cas. Just – just hold it together for a little bit longer, okay?" He waited for the other man's exhausted nod before starting down the ladder. It was only a matter of time before the cops decided to check out the alley instead of just blocking it off. More sirens were arriving. Dean jumped the last few feet and looked back up, holding out his arms. Cas met his gaze.

A jolt ran through him at the expression in those blue eyes. Even after Cas's harsh words from that morning, after his disillusionment with his brother agents and whatever had happened to him at the pond, Cas trusted him to catch him. It had been a long time since someone had looked at him like that, more than fifteen years, and Dean had pushed him away, ignoring his hurt, ignoring his own feelings.

Cas fell silently through the air. Dean grunted with the impact, but couldn't resist taking one tiny moment to fist his hands in the folds of the trench coat and hold Cas to him. Bruised and bloodied, for sure, but whole. He cleared his throat.

"Come on." They staggered a few feet to the kitchen door just as it opened. Sam lurked in the doorway, a small first aid kit in his hand, 'Evelyn Fielding' stamped on its lid.

"Found this in the car," he said by way of greeting. "There's a bathroom across the hall. Your friend should change his bloody coat, too. The street is swarming with cops."

"Good thinking," Dean praised him. "Cas, this is my brother, Sam. Sam, Cas."

Between the two of them, the Winchesters managed to hustle Cas into the tiny bathroom. The cooks in the kitchen didn't even look up, and Dean raised his eyebrow at Sam. Sam grimaced. "I just bought a couple dozen dumplings," he mouthed.

"I love dumplings." Dean grinned at him. Sam rolled his eyes in response.

"Tight fit in here. I'm going to keep an eye on the street. You take care of the… clothing situation." Sam backed out of the bathroom, bumping his head, and pulled the door closed behind him.

"Your brother is very kind," Cas muttered.

"Yeah, I think I'll keep him," Dean said without thinking, and wanted to swallow his own foot at the flicker of pain across Cas's face. "Uh, here, off with the coat."

He busied himself with sliding Cas's arms out of his trench coat and suit jacket as gently as he could. "Here, you wear my jacket, that will cover some of these stains," Dean said, eyeing the blood and dirt on Cas's formerly white dress shirt and shucking off his leather jacket. "I know a doctor. He won't ask questions, don't worry. I'll just get the rest of the blood off your face here–"

"It's too quiet in the kitchen," Cas interrupted his babbling. Dean shut his mouth. They both drew their guns, and Dean reached for the door.

The two cooks were staring into their pots like the scalding water contained the secrets of the universe. Sam stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands in the air, Ruby behind him with a large butcher's knife pressed to his back.

"Dean–" Sam started, his voice strangled.

"Shush, Gigantor," Ruby chided. "Look, Winchester. That's you, right? And your little friend, Castiel? Didn't want to be Uriel Inger's bitch?"

"Looked to me like you were willing to play that role," Dean said, shifting left as Cas shifted right.

"Don't move, or I'll gut the giant!" Ruby pressed the knife harder against Sam's back and he let out an inadvertent gasp. "I just need a minute of your time. A minute!"

Dean stilled and saw Cas do likewise out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

"You want to stop Lilith. I want to stop Lilith. We're on the same side here."

"You have a knife to my brother's back. That tends to change things."

Ruby scowled at him. "You're going about Lilith in the wrong way. Uriel wanted to lure her out into the open, chop off her head and get all the glory. Then he could put his own man in charge." Her eyes darted to Cas. "Come on, you had to know he was rotten."

Cas just glared at her.

"Why are you telling us this?" Dean asked, drawing her attention back to him.

"Lilith's a snake. She's not going to give you the opportunity to cut off her head, not unless you prove to her you're worth it. You want to draw her out? You need to cut off her money supply."

Dean's heart began to beat faster as his mind whirled. The financial records Cas had found, payoffs to Brady, who tried to stop Rachel from getting to Dean with information. Brady, who worked for Crowley.

"Crowley was the money man," he whispered. Ruby nodded, a ghost of a smile playing across her lips.

"Nice work, Sherlock. You focus on that. I'm leaving town."

Dean shook his head. "Why would you turn on them? Aren't they–"

"My family?" Ruby barked a short laugh. "Forget it, Winchester." Her mouth twisted into a smirk. "It's Chinatown."

She shoved Sam forward and was out the swinging door into the restaurant in the blink of an eye. Dean swore, leapt over Sam and burst into the restaurant. The sole patron, an old man, looked up from his newspaper, glanced at his drawn gun, and went back to reading the OpEds. There was no sign of Ruby.

"Dammit!"

***

Dean sat in the Impala outside Dr. Corman's walk-up in Petworth and massaged his forehead. He had the mother of all headaches.

Henriksen had ripped him a new one for refusing to play nicely with Gordon, but he preferred that to Sam's epic Silent Treatment and disapproving look when Dean had ditched Sam and Cas at Corman's to go check in at the station. It's not that he _wanted_ to let Cas out of his sight – _Cas is hurt, that's why!_ – but he couldn't ignore his job. He'd managed a rushed, stilted conversation with Anna before making it back to PG County. He was being left out of the report of events at the safe house. Gabriel was in charge of covering for his spent shells, and she didn't sound happy about it.

His cell buzzed and he sighed before glancing down. _Ash_.

"Dude, I have _so much_ to tell you!" Ash didn't wait for him to speak. "I've been watching and re-watching Ronald Reznick's Curtain Call, and okay, first, that dude at the end, the Constantine look-alike? I think he's the cop who found the body. I dug up the initial police report, and it says–"

"Ash," Dean interrupted.

"–reported by James Novak, only there isn't one, at least not in DC–"

"Ash," Dean said again, louder.

"–and then I thought, why do we even _have_ this footage? And you know why?"

"Because your Constantine was trying to build a case against your Ninja Assassins and I leapt down his throat over it for nothing," Dean answered wearily.

"Um. What?"

"Never mind, Ash. Look, it's been a rough day…"

"Okay, dude, I get that. You should drink more beer. But in the meantime, I've also been going through Ronald's hard drive, and, I'm _not sure_ , dude, but I think I found something you'd want to see yourself. But I have to go into work or else your aunt's gonna kill me."

"I need to… run an errand myself," Dean said, looking up at Corman's house. "Tomorrow, noon?"

"Gotcha. And bring me more fried chicken."

Dean hung up on him and got out of the car. He mock saluted Dr. Corman's gnomes as he made his way through the overgrown patch of lawn and up the steps to the tiny porch. Sam opened the door on his first knock.

"You owe me," he hissed at Dean. "Dr. Corman!" he called over his shoulder. "Look who's here!"

Dr. Corman huffed his way into the room and wrestled Dean into a bear hug. "That's my boy!"

"Oof. Thanks for your help, Doc," Dean said as soon as he could breathe. "How's Cas?"

"Bruised ribs, lots of cuts, won't be lifting his arms above his head for the next couple of days, slightly sprained left ankle that he was _trying_ to pass off as fine. No concussion, though," Corman responded cheerfully. "I'd still suggest someone keep an eye on him from time to time overnight."

"That's no problem," Dean replied, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Cas would be fine. Sam cocked an eyebrow at him, and Dean cleared his throat. "So, where is he, Doc?"

"Couch!" Corman led them through a narrow hall into his living room. Cas was slumped on the couch, his foot up on the coffee table.

"Dean, just a sec." Sam tugged at his shirt sleeve and they stopped in the hall. Corman grinned at them and continued through to the living room, gently waking Cas up. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Thought I'd take him out to Bobby's." Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. _Here it comes_.

"I think that's a good idea," Sam said softly. Dean blinked.

"What? You do?"

"Dean. I've spent all afternoon with him while you were out doing… whatever, cop stuff. He's a fascinating person." Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And I heard what that Gabriel person said. He needs a place to hide. Bobby's is the best place. I'll call him and tell him you guys are on your way."

"Well, thanks for your support, Sam," Dean said. He made to step around his brother, but Sam laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Look, Dean," Sam started, and Dean sighed. _Okay,_ here's _when it comes_. "He's your friend," Sam continued, and Dean could hear the special emphasis Sam put on the word 'friend.' "I like him. I'm glad you found him."

"Sam," Dean said seriously. "Oprah called. She wants her ovaries back."

"You're such a jerk," Sam huffed. He stepped into the living room ahead of Dean, purposefully turning his back on him. "Dr. Corman, thank you for your hospitality and medical expertise. Cas, awesome meeting you." He shook both their hands, grabbed his jacket and pushed by Dean again.

"Thank you, Sammy!" Dean called after him. Sam waved over his shoulder, something suspiciously like a middle finger, but Dean could see him reach into his pocket to pull out his cell and call Bobby. _Good boy_.

"Thanks again, Doc." Dean rubbed his hands together. Cas blinked blearily up at him. The sleepy, confused look was a good one on him. "Uh, ready for a car ride, Cas? I've got the sweetest ride around."

He winced. He sounded like a fucking porno. Neither Cas nor Dr. Corman seemed to notice, though. Both men shook hands, Cas's gravelly voice saying thanks and Corman waving it off with a smile. Dean offered his shoulder, and he and Cas hobbled down the hall and out to the car, where Cas insisted on getting in on his own. Dean shut the door behind him and took a breath. A little over an hour to Bobby's, and then this wretched day would be over, and he'd have time to think. About Ruby, Crowley and Lilith. Anna, Uriel and Gabriel. Meg's crumpled body. Ash's information. He glanced at his passenger. And about Cas.

Chapter V  
He sang about the blues in my body and soul

Rolling farm country slid past on either side of the road as Dean drove through Frederick County, Cas slumped into the passenger seat, eyes at half-mast. Bobby Singer's farm was one of the last before the Pennsylvania border and the battlefields of Gettysburg.

Going to Bobby's was like taking a trip down Memory Lane. Dean and Sam had spent many summers there when they were growing up, and each landmark had a story. Out the left window was the Blue Earth farm, where he'd taught Sam how to drive. Further up was an access road to the Shoemaker farm and a tree with a hollow, perfect for hiding a six-pack. Out the right were the swampy remains of Jorgeson Lake. Maryland had no natural lakes, only man-made ones, and this one had been a massive failure of design. Sam had lost a shoe in its squelching mud. And finally, in the field beyond that was where Dean used to play baseball and wrestle with his only friend, other than Sam, a scrawny kid named Jimmy who laughed at all Dean's jokes and thought he hung the moon. Dean's eyes were drawn to Cas as they passed the place where Jimmy had tried to kiss a fourteen-year-old Dean, and Dean had pushed him away and never seen him again, embarking on almost twenty years of failed non-relationships with women.

But that was a long time ago, and Jimmy had fallen off the map soon after. Doubtless Dr. Phil would have something to say about that, and about the dream Dean had had of the man sitting next to him, but this was why Dean didn't watch that shit.

Dean took a deep breath as they turned down the long lane leading to Bobby's. Was it just him, or did the air smell better here? He loved Bobby's farm, long-since converted into a salvage yard for his classic car refurbishment business. Bobby had given them both their first jobs – Dean with the cars and Sam with the account books. The farm was also conveniently located near the fireworks' store across the Pennsylvania border. The two boys and their surrogate father used to bring the fireworks back to Maryland and cut them open to see how they worked. Looking back, Dean wondered how none of them ever lost a limb, but at the time, the flash, burn and excitement was a sacred Singer-Winchester bonding ritual.

Bobby was sitting on his front porch when Dean pulled up, enjoying an ice cold glass of lemonade in the cooling dusk air. He hobbled over on his cane while Dean killed the ignition and crossed over to the passenger side door.

"Not your typical bunkmate, Dean," he remarked, bending to peer in at Cas.

"Yeah, well, not my typical reason for visiting," Dean said, elbowing him gently out of the way to get the door open.

Cas woke groggily, blinking his thick lashes before focusing on Dean's face. "Hey, man," Dean said softly. "We've made it to the Singer Palace."

Cas leaned heavily on his arm as they followed Bobby and the thumping of his cane up the porch steps and into the house. Dean watched Cas out of the corner of his eye. The other man's eyes flitted from place to place, cataloging exits and learning the layout of the place. He looked pale and exhausted, and was still in need of a shower.

"I'm putting you upstairs in my old room," Dean told him. "The stairs may be tricky, but the benefits outweigh the cons. You'll see." Cas just nodded his head.

Bobby left them at the foot of the stairs, and Dean shot him a grateful look over his shoulder. Cas relaxed slightly against him, now that there was no one else to see how weakly he navigated the stairs. Dean was practically carrying him by the time they were halfway up.

His old room was the first door on the right at the top of the stairs. Cas sank bonelessly into Dean's twin mattress, and Dean gave him a moment to rest. Bobby had made the upstairs bathroom into an ensuite connecting Dean's room to Sam's room after their first extended visit, about three years after Mary had died. Dean checked out the towel situation in the bathroom and poked his head into the shower: same shampoo and soap he'd left there during his last stay, plus the body wash Sam had brought. There were razors in the medicine cabinet and aftershave, the brand their father had used that neither of them ever did. The bathroom would just look wrong without it.

Dean walked back into his room. It was like a snapshot of him as a teenager: the lone sports poster (the Iron Man, Cal Ripken, Jr.), a few faded pictures of classic cars and buxom babes dotting the walls, an outdated stereo system against one wall, and a battered wardrobe (complete with dart holes in its side) and drafting desk against the other. Plus the bed, which had hosted several occupants other than himself. Or rather, along with himself, in spite of its narrow frame. And now it was playing host to Cas.

Dean scuffed his toes in the throw rug and cleared his throat. "So I need to show you why you had to stay in this room," he began.

"There's a compartment behind the wardrobe," Cas rasped out, his first words since they'd left the District.

Dean blinked. "How did you know that?"

"This room ends too soon. The staircase ends at least three feet farther over, and it's not consistent with the outside of the house." Cas struggled to pull himself into an upright position. "Underground Railroad?"

Dean nodded, a slight smile crossing his lips. "Clever, Cas. Yeah, you're right, 'cept it's a whole passage, not just a compartment. Underground railroad, moonshiners, and now, fugitive lawmen." He held out his hand. "Let me show you how it works."

Cas grasped his forearm and allowed himself to be helped over to the wardrobe. Dean opened the doors, reached behind a couple of old flannel shirts, and pressed the upper top righthand corner. The entire back of the wardrobe swung inward. Dean watched Cas' face light up.

"I feel very Lucy Pevensie right now," he murmured.

"This will take you to a salt room behind the barn," Dean said. "As far as I know, no streetlamps or lions have been spotted there." He cringed inwardly. Sam would tease him mercilessly if he knew Dean had caught Cas' reference, but Cas gave him a small smile.

"To close it from this side, you just hook your finger into this whorl here," Dean continued, sticking his finger into a tiny hole that just looked like a blemish in the wood, "and tug it."

"Very handy," Cas complimented him. "Should I even ask how many overnight guests you used to sneak in here this way?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah, probably not." Cas smiled at him again, and that was twice in less than five minutes, when he had never even smiled once before. Dean's heart lurched in his chest, probably the result of something he ate. He cleared his throat. "Anyhow, you could do with a shower, and then I'll change your dressings, maybe eat, and then it's bedtime for Bonzo."

Cas nodded, his smile fading, and Dean helped him into the bathroom before leaving him with a muttered excuse to find him something clean to wear. He heard the shower start up as he looked through drawers in the left side of the wardrobe, finding an old concert t-shirt and faded flannel pajama bottoms. He had to take a deep breath before knocking on the bathroom door.

"Cas? I'm bringing in some clothes, okay?" There was no response from the other side, and he shrugged his shoulders before opening the door anyway.

Cas was standing in front of the shower, his shoes, socks, dress shirt, pants, belt and gun neatly piled next to the toilet. His fingers played with the hem of his undershirt as he licked his lips. "I can't lift my arms," he said in a low voice. A red stain, whether from anger or embarrassment, Dean couldn't tell, spread across his cheeks.

"How attached are you to that shirt?" Dean asked, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact. "I can cut it off and get you a button-down to wear instead of this thing," he continued, gesturing with the clean clothes he still held in his hands. "And if you're cool with it, I can wash your hair for you. I had to do it for Sammy when he was a kid. Took him forever to learn how to take a shower. Almost as long for learning how to tie his shoelaces." And now he was babbling, and making Cas feel like a kid to boot. _Awesome, Dean._

Cas blinked at him uncertainly. "Um. Okay."

"Great! I mean," and now a red stain was appearing across his own cheeks, he just knew it, and why did he have to dwell on his own shower from that morning at the prospect of washing Cas's hair – wet, naked and bruised Cas – oh, God. "I'll get the scissors."

Cas stepped under the hot spray of water still wearing his boxers after Dean cut him out of his shirt, for which Dean was absurdly grateful. He quickly shucked his shirt, shoes and socks, and climbed in behind Cas. It was by far the most awkward shower he'd ever taken. Cas's back was one big mottled bruise and Dean wasn't sure if he was helping at all. The worst, though, was the moan Cas let out when Dean first touched his hair. Dean went completely stiff, and Cas gritted out, "Relax, Dean, I'm not into tripsolagnia – you're pulling my hair."

"Sorry," Dean said, and gingerly began shampooing Cas' hair. "What's tripsolagnia?"

"Hair-washing kink," Cas muttered back, his face tilted up into the spray as Dean scrubbed gently at his hair. Water drops chased each other down his neck, and Dean swallowed hard. _Thanks for the awkward moment, Cas._

Cas's hair was longer than his own, and silky in the water. He could easily imagine gripping it later, and wondered if it would be as silky soft when dry. He cleared his throat, banishing the thought.

"You're about done." He hurriedly ran his fingers through Cas's hair, making sure the suds were gone. He yanked the curtain back and reached for a towel with shaky fingers. "I'll leave you to finish up in here."

He ducked into his old room and shut the door, breathing heavily. He didn't think his erection had been noticeable. What the hell was happening here? This was too fucked up. He dried off quickly and pulled on some of his old clothes, the t-shirt too tight across his chest, the jeans a little snug, and adamantly refused to touch himself. The water stopped in the shower, and Dean's traitorous mind turned to what Cas would be doing right then. _Oh, hell no._

"Cas, I'm running downstairs to help Bobby cobble some grub together. Yell if you need help getting down the stairs!" he called through the door. Cas grunted his assent, and Dean went barreling down into the kitchen.

Bobby looked up in surprise from the stovetop. "My house on fire and no one told me?"

"Just eager to help!" Dean said with a shit-eating grin.

Bobby gave him a skeptical look. "Well if you're not possessed, why don't you get down the bowls and find us some sporks. Yeah, and the crackers, and I've got some cheese…"

Dean sniffed at the pot on his way to the fridge. "Bobby's Bodacious Chili?"

"This batch is closer to Bobby's Chili, Full Stop." Bobby gave the contents of the pot a couple of half-hearted stirs as Dean pulled out the cheese and crackers. "So, Dean. Not that I'm complaining about your visit, mind you. But your friend upstairs. He in some kind of trouble? Sam was none too specific on the phone."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, Bobby. He's in a spot of trouble. Kind of my fault."

"He a cop like you? Holds himself like one." Bobby shot him a look from beneath his battered trucker hat. "And whatever you're blaming yourself for, don't. You pulled him out and got him here. That's something."

Dean turned to rummage in a cabinet for bowls, but he could still feel Bobby's eyes on him. There was a shuffling from the stairs and Dean gratefully headed to the distraction. Cas was descending the steps one at a time, the hem of Dean's old pajama bottoms brushing against the wood. The button-down only had a couple of buttons done up and Cas's hair was unbrushed and sticking up in wet clumps. Dean fought against a fierce wave of protectiveness. This was the same man who'd challenged Uriel and a roomful of his supporters, alone and injured; he didn't need coddling. But maybe he could use a hand. And a comb. Not that Dean was going to comb his hair. He had _some_ lines.

"Just in time for a piss-poor excuse for chili, Cas," he said, putting a bit of warmth into it. He couldn't resist holding out a hand to help Cas down the last few steps. Cas gripped his shoulder instead and the touch burned. "Uh. Through here."

Bobby plopped the pot of chili on a potholder in the middle of the table as Cas sank into a chair with a quiet sigh. "My thanks, Mr. Singer, for your hospitality," he said.

"Mr. Singer's been dead for more'n two decades, son. It's Bobby," Bobby said, pulling out a chair and lowering himself carefully to the seat. "Sit, boy, and let's eat," he directed at Dean.

The chili was not the best Dean had ever eaten at Bobby's, but a liberal application of cheese made it quite palatable. They ate in silence for a few minutes except for the sound of utensils scraping bowls and Bobby breathing through his nose. Dean watched Cas pick at his food. He had a lot of questions, and now that the other man was showered and safe and partially fed, he'd probably be more forthcoming with answers.

"So, Cas," Dean began. "What happened at that pond? How'd you get away?"

Cas's eyes flicked to Bobby and back to Dean, the question clear.

"I'd trust Bobby with my brother's life," Dean declared. "You can speak freely here."

Cas looked down at his bowl. The silence stretched. Dean caught Bobby's eyes over the box of crackers. Bobby shrugged his shoulders. Dean grimaced back at him.

"Raphael sent some lesser agents to pick me up," Cas said finally. "They partially succeeded."

"How'd they know where you were?" Dean asked, mouth full. He swallowed loudly and looked expectantly at Cas.

"My phone. We all have trackers in our phones. I had removed mine, but Raphael and Uriel–" He stopped abruptly. Dean knew exactly what he was seeing in his mind's eye.

"Not your fault, Cas," he said gruffly.

"He was a good man once. A good agent."

The silence that descended was heavier that time. Bobby broke it by pushing his chair back from the table, scraping the floor. "I've got some work I wanted to do in the garage," he announced. "Dean, Marcie from down the road dropped off a ginger peach cobbler earlier if you want to check it out."

"Marcie, huh?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. "Does Ellen know about this?"

"I fixed her wood chipper!" Bobby protested. "Just being neighborly. It's none of your aunt's business."

He stomped out of the kitchen, grumbling to himself.

"What will you get if you clean her pipes?" Dean called after him.

Bobby's response was lost in the slamming of the door. Dean turned back to Cas, chuckling under his breath, thankful for the brief moment of levity. The other man hadn't cracked a smile, but was instead frowning after Bobby's retreating back.

"Mr. Singer is in a relationship with your aunt?" he asked. "Yet he is also involved with his neighbor?"

"What? No, man, I was just teasing him," Dean assured him. "Look, Bobby's very honorable, it's okay. And don't try to change the subject."

Cas gave him a flat look and pushed his chili around in his bowl.

"Fuck, Cas, I don't want to talk about what happened in Chinatown, either. Just help me figure out how you got there. How much do you think this Raphael knows about what we've been doing? And stop feeling guilty about Uriel, man, I _saw_ him following Rachel on metro's security camera. You know he was just going to set you up for that." Cas didn't meet his gaze. Dean threw his hands up in the air. "Fine! Fine, this investigation already has holes in it big enough to drive through, why try to plug any of them?"

His chair scraped loudly on the linoleum as he pushed back from the table and marched his empty bowl to the sink.

"I'm ashamed."

Cas's confession stopped him in his tracks. Dean turned slowly and leaned back against the sink. Cas met his eyes.

"We take an oath to protect this country. Its citizens. I expected better of my brothers." God, his eyes were so fucking blue. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean let his breath out slowly. "Hey. You're not them." Cas was still watching him with his liquid eyes. "Fuck them, Cas. You're better than all of them."

Cas huffed a bitter laugh.

"I'm serious. You had my back in there when I was way out of my league and–" Dean shut his mouth with a snap. "You know, you're right. We don't have to parse this tonight. Tomorrow's soon enough."

Cas sat back in his chair, the tension draining from his shoulders. "That is very kind of you, Dean."

"Yeah, well," Dean mumbled, flushing. He retrieved the cobbler from the counter and laid it between them at the table. "Mmm, would you look at this? That's craftsmanship." He busied himself cutting two large servings. Cas eyed the bowl Dean set in front of him with a bit of apprehension. He had eaten only a third of his chili.

"Come on, Cas, the sugar will help. When I was a kid, my mom used to add a spoonful of sugar, just like Mary Poppins, to get me to eat my vegetables…" his voice trailed off. _Smooth, Dean, smooth. Because getting betrayed is exactly the same as a serving of broccoli._ He glanced up to find Cas's eyes on him, his eyebrows knitted into an expression of sympathy.

"Anyhow, about Bobby and Ellen," Dean said, clearing his throat and fishing wildly for something other than the case or his dead mother to talk about. "Sam and I always tried to get them together when we were young. It's a running joke. They're both widowed, you know?" He took a large bite of the cobbler and unicorns gave birth to rainbows in his mouth. "Oh my God," he mumbled. He ate another spoonful, closing his eyes to better concentrate on the taste, slowly savoring each flavor. When he opened his eyes, Cas was honest-to-God smiling at him again.

Dean's mouth turned up at the sight, his lips parting. He was suddenly aware of how physically close they were, hunched together over Bobby's table. Which only made him recall how close they'd been earlier in the shower, and how had he ever thought that was casual, just like two soldiers in a war, brothers-in-arms helping each other out? They were that, sure, but Dean could admit, if only to himself and only in the faintest whisper, that there was something more there. Something in the curve of Cas's lips in his rare smile, in the careful way he brought a spoonful of cobbler up to his mouth, in the look of concentration on his face as he chewed – something in there was causing Dean's heart to ache and his breath to quicken. He shoved another bite of cobbler into his mouth.

They ate in silence. Cas sat as loosely as Dean had ever seen him sit anywhere, usually stiff as a board, but Dean's shoulders knotted together with tension. After awhile it began to affect Cas, too, and his air of partial relaxation eventually faded, to be replaced with a slight frown.

"So, bed time?" Dean asked, clearing his throat. Cas nodded and slowly stood up. "You want a hand getting up the stairs?"

"It is something I should manage on my own," Cas replied.

"Yeah, okay." Dean brought the empty cobbler bowls over to the sink and watched Cas's back as he shuffled out of the kitchen. "Get some rest. Tomorrow you can tell me about Chinatown."

He was looking for it, else he wouldn't have noticed Cas's flinch. A second later, he stood ramrod straight once more. "Of course, Dean."

_Dean Winchester, you are one hell of an asshole._

***

There was a weird stain in the shape of the Incredible Hulk on the ceiling in Sam's old room. Dean squinted at it in the darkness. No, it was closer to Hopalong Cassidy. There was definitely a lasso or something smeared next to it. Whatever, Sam was weird and Dean was trying too hard to concentrate on his brother's childhood shenanigans – anything to distract him from the idea of Cas sleeping in his old bed, wearing his old clothes. Dean shifted, the mattress squeaking beneath him. He imagined he could hear an answering squeak from the room on the other side of the bathroom. Cas was probably tossing and turning, his face flushed, his hair mussed. Dean's fingers slipped down past the waistband of his boxers.

He could try picturing Anna, or Jamie, a cute blonde bartender with fantastic breasts, or that actress who'd been shooting a political thriller in DC last spring, or any of a number of other women, all of whom had been willing and eager to share his bed. But Jamie's hair kept turning dark, the actress's eyes changed to deep blue, Anna's slim figure became broader. There was no use fighting. It was Cas's mouth he was picturing as his hand closed around the head of his–

_Thump._

"Shit!" Dean threw off his blanket, grabbed his gun from under his pillow and rushed through the bathroom into Cas's room.

Cas was on the floor by the bed, tangled in his blankets. He groaned when he spotted Dean in the doorway, gun drawn.

"I miscalculated the width of the bed, Dean. No one is attacking me."

"Looks like that blanket is winning, actually." Dean's heart was still beating furiously, though more from the flash of skin where Cas's shirt had ridden up now. "Here, let me help."

"No, I can do it," Cas protested, succeeding only in entangling himself further. Dean barked a laugh and strode forward. His gun joined Cas's on the nightstand and he leaned down to grip an elbow. Cas grumbled at him, but Dean ignored him, grabbing for Cas's other shoulder. Only Cas had a different idea about that, too, and Dean found himself falling forward, twisting at the last moment to land half-on the bed instead of on top of Cas.

Cas stood, the blanket hanging from his shoulders like a cape and a smirk plastered across his face.

"Hey, Superman, I just landed on my fucking tailbone," Dean growled at him.

"I _told_ you–"

But whatever Cas was going to say was lost when he slipped on the edge of the blanket and pitched forward. Dean caught him, cursing as he got a mouthful of blanket, and wrestled him down to the bed, rolling awkwardly aside to avoid crushing him. Only there was no place to go in the single bed, and he wound up pinning Cas down despite his best efforts.

He immediately panicked. There was no way Cas couldn't feel that, his erection having lessened not at all in their brief scuffle. He scrambled back and almost fell out of the bed before managing to get out and stand up.

"You're good now, try not to fall out of bed, I'm just going to–"

He was already through the door, feet slapping quickly across tiles before he practically launched himself into Sam's old bed.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!_ Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Cas probably thought he was some kind of pervert, trying to take advantage of him when he was injured and–

"Dean."

Dean's eyes flew open.

"You left your weapon in my room." Cas laid the gun carefully on the nightstand.

"Thanks," Dean managed. Cas was staring at him. Dean resolutely ignored him, eyes fixated on his gun like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen in his life. He looked back at Cas when the bed dipped, though, his mouth opening wide in surprise.

Cas forestalled any possible protests by thrusting his tongue into Dean's open mouth. The kiss was immediately aggressive, skipping such niceties as little licks and the press of lips and going straight for the sharing of oxygen, the clack of teeth, Cas sucking on Dean's tongue until Dean moaned and bucked up into his touch.

"Cas!" he gasped. His brain was short circuiting. It was definitely lack of oxygen, he decided. Cas was a breath hog. Dean forced himself into Cas's mouth, licking and biting and stroking with his tongue. Cas collapsed on top of him with a groan and Dean broke the kiss. _Fuck. Oh, fuck my life._

Cas's erection was every bit as strong as his own. He ground down against Dean with his hips, his hands cradling and stroking Dean's neck as he began to kiss across his jawline and down his neck, slurping, sucking noises joining Dean's harsh breaths. Dean's hands flailed for a moment before coming to rest on the small of Cas's back.

_Holy fuck, we're going to have sex. I'm going to have sex with another man and I'm going to really, really like it._

Dean gripped Cas's ass firmly in his hands and thrust up. Cas growled against his neck, running his tongue over one particularly large hickey before drawing back just enough to yank Dean's boxers down and slide them off his legs. He licked the head of Dean's cock almost perfunctorily, already focused on getting Dean's shirt off. He sat back on his heels and stared at Dean, naked before him. Dean pushed himself up on his elbows.

"Like what you see?" he asked. How many times had he asked the same cheesy question, not really paying attention to the answer? A kernel of doubt lodged in him as Cas remained silent. "Cas?"

_Fuck, did he change his mind? Shit._

He shifted on the bed, his eyes going to the blanket that had wound up on the floor at some point. A flush started to creep across his cheeks and he could feel his erection lessening.

"You're beautiful," Cas said in his rumbly growl, his voice lower than normal, and Dean's cock responded with enthusiasm.

"Uh…" Dean responded, the ability to string two words together departing at the burning look in Cas's eyes. Cas moved back over him, still clothed. He batted Dean's hands away when Dean fumbled with a button on the borrowed shirt, and Dean just shrugged and went with it, sliding his hands up beneath the shirt and encountering the edge of the bandage around Cas's ribs. _Fuck, Dean, be gentle with the damn ribs!_

Cas's mouth was on his again, the kisses no less frantic, and Dean forgot for a moment that there was anything else to worry about or pay attention to, just Cas's mouth on his and Cas's hand sneaking down his body to grip his cock. Dean embarrassed himself by groaning loudly into the kiss, but it was nothing compared to the mewling moan he made when Cas's bare cock rubbed against his own. He could barely focus to see that Cas had shoved his pants, Dean's old pajamas, partway down his thighs. Dean made a half-hearted attempt to get them all the way off, but Cas just took them both in hand and Dean lost all semblance of control. He rutted against Cas, trying to keep the kiss going but more often than not licking stubble. The friction was intense, Cas's grip brutally strong and assured, and it didn't take long before Dean came with a cry, bucking up and gasping for breath. Cas milked him for all he was worth before leaning down for another kiss and coming all over his hand and Dean's stomach.

Dean lay on his back with the unfamiliar sensation of another man's semen dampening his skin. He could feel Cas's eyes on him, but he couldn't look at him yet. Cas kissed him, the first gentle kiss he'd given, and Dean had to close his eyes to protect himself.

"Dean?" Cas's voice was hoarse. Dean's own voice was rough and scratchy when he managed a mumbled, "Yeah?"

Cas didn't say anything back, but a moment later the bed dipped again and Dean felt him stand up. Dean gave him a moment to pull up his pants before opening his eyes. Cas was already turning away. Dean caught at his arm.

"Hey," he said. "Hey."

He was at a complete and utter loss for words and after a moment Cas gave him a small smile, squeezed his hand and left the room.

Dean fell back against the pillows. _Well, shit. That wasn't supposed to happen._

Chapter VI  
Trying to beat the devil to the old crossroads

Birdsong woke him from a dream about dancing waffles the next morning. He'd been up every couple of hours, padding through the bathroom to check on Cas like Doc Corman had instructed and praying the other man wouldn't awaken. His eyes felt clogged with sand and he blinked blearily at the stain on the ceiling before the events of the past few days all came flooding back to him: Cas, Chinatown, Meg, Uriel, Cas, Anna, the money trail, Cas, Ruby, Gabriel, Ronald Reznick, Cas, kissing Cas, the weight of Cas on top of him, sex with Cas. Dead Meg, dead Meg, dead Meg. He groaned aloud and fumbled for the alarm on the nightstand. His gun was there, and he usually slept with it beneath the pillow. He closed his eyes as he remembered that, too.

The digital time read 06:00, and he had quite the commute to look forward to. He groaned again and scratched absently at his chest. Something sticky had dried – _oh, fuck_. He'd fallen asleep with dried come on his stomach. _Rookie mistake._

He was just getting out of the shower when his cell rang.

"Do not come into the station this morning, kid." _Rufus._

"Well, ain't you a bucket of sunshine." Dean fumbled with a towel, securing it around his waist.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dean, how did you sleep last night? Sweet dreams, I hope?" Rufus's voice was laced with sarcasm, but Dean flushed anyway, thankful his partner couldn't see him and the large hickey at the meeting of his neck and shoulder.

"Yeah, it was just me and that bottle of Johnny Walker Blue you've got in your bottom drawer, hanging by the pool and checking out the bikini models."

Rufus snorted into his phone and Dean reflexively pulled the receiver from his ear. "Sure, kid. What did you talk to Henriksen about last night, huh? Gordon is spitting rocks over here."

"Henriksen told me I needed to play nice with Gordon." Dean frowned into the medicine cabinet, looking for some deodorant he'd left there, but only encountering Sam's. "That's why I'm coming in, though I could get a lot more done–"

"Change in directive. The shit has really hit the fan in that murdered Homeland Security case. Henriksen's getting involved personally, and he just told me to keep you the hell away from Gordon and the station."

"Why?" He reached for his toothbrush. It was red and covered in racing cars, a practical joke from when he and Sam had visited at Christmas. Better than the Barbie one he'd given Sam, at least.

"Well, golly gee, Dean, could it have anything at all to do with those escaped prisoners you _weren't_ looking into, at a time when you most certainly _don't_ have an alibi? One's dead, one's back in custody and the last one vanished into the ether. But of course that's not news to you, now is it?"

"Uh…"

"I'm your goddamned partner, Winchester. You tell me this shit."

"I know, Rufus, and I'm sorry–"

"Ha!"

"–but I have my reasons, and you do _not_ need this mess. You're retiring."

"Dammit, Dean, I'm not retired _yet_! I'm still a fucking detective, remember?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and banged his head on the mirror above the sink. "Yeah, I remember."

"Good! Why are you hip-deep in this shit, anyway, kid?"

"Um…" Dean's mind raced. What on earth could he possibly say? _You know how I'm a straight horndog? Well, turns out I'm not actually one hundred percent straight! Who'd've thunk it? And the dude I had sex with last night, I don't know how I feel about him, but he's eliciting actual_ feelings, _isn't that a scary thought?_

"Oh, shit. It's the chick you were asking me about the other day. You got into her pants."

"Jesus, Rufus."

"Who is it? Someone connected to this case… Wait a minute. Dean. Hell no. Do not tell me you fucked the escaped prisoner! You stupid sack of–"

"Of course not, God! I'm not a traitor!" He could hear Rufus breathing heavily on the other end of the line, trying to get his composure back.

"Good. That's good," Rufus said finally. "But if it's not her…"

"It's none of your business!" Dean glanced nervously at the closed bathroom door that opened into Cas's room. "Come on, Rufus, drop it."

"Hey, you're the one who asked _my_ opinion."

"I know, I know. But I don't want to talk about this now."

"You're in bed with her right now, aren't you?" Rufus sighed. "Okay, fine. Call me later. About the _case_ we're working on."

"I will, Rufus, promise. Oh, and Rufus?"

"Let me guess. You need a favor. Please tell me it has _something_ to do with the Crowley case, or Narcotics in general."

"I was just thinking about how you were a detective, not retired, and was wondering if you wanted to look into one of Crowley's lieutenants. You remember Tyson Brady? See if he has any connections to a woman named Lilith, what he's doing now, et cetera."

"You think Brady's moving up the chain of command?" Rufus sounded interested, despite his annoyance.

"It's possible."

"And you're not going to tell me how you know this."

Dean shot another glance at the bathroom door. "I'll tell you eventually."

"Good enough for me. I'll focus on Brady. Stay in touch, Baby Winchester, and don't come in."

"I heard you. And, Rufus? Do it quietly. He may be the one behind that DHS agent who bought it outside West Hyattsville."

There was a pause. "That's just peachy. Gordon's going to froth at the mouth if he finds you kept that from him."

"Hey, I'd drop him a hint, if I could come into the office."

Rufus snorted into the phone, graceless and loud. "You just keep your nose clean, and I'll keep my head down, and maybe by some miracle we'll both survive this clusterfuck."

"Yeah. Later, Rufus."

Dean ended the call and frowned down at the phone in his hand. Henriksen wanted him to stay away? Sounded like Gabriel Smecher had been throwing his weight around. At least Dean could still call in to work and lean on those resources, and he had the support of his superiors, not like Cas, cut off from all his supposed brothers.

The bathroom door opened, and Cas paused in the doorway.

"Heeeeey," Dean said, voice trailing off into an awkward silence. Cas's eyes swooped over his bare chest before focusing on a point over his shoulder. Dean stood straighter. He may have never had sex with a man before, but this was the _second_ time Cas had walked in on him in a towel and by God, Dean was not going to be embarrassed by it. "Bathroom's free. There's a Kermit the Frog toothbrush in the medicine cabinet – it's new."

"Thank you. I used my finger last night."

Dean had nothing to say to that, and left the room, closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Detective Dean Winchester did not get flustered after a one-night stand. Detective Dean Winchester was a fucking adult and a professional. So he had fucked around with a man he worked with! He could act like nothing had happened. It was easy. And just one time did not make him gay, right, so there – gay freak-out neatly avoided. As long as Cas followed his cue. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above Sam's bureau. His hickey was the size of Texas. _Fuck my life._

He found an old University of Maryland hoodie in the back of Sam's closet and pulled it on. It was his best bet to hide Cas's mark, but the knowledge of it burned as he finished getting dressed, surveyed his sheets for the ickiness factor, decided against changing them, and stomped down the stairs.

Bobby looked up at him from the kitchen table. Just one look, and Dean knew he knew. Bobby looked back down at his cup of coffee and cleared his throat.

"I've got lots of raccoons on this property. Hope their banging and clanging didn't keep you up last night, son," he said.

Dean nodded, accepting the out, and made a peace offering of scrambled eggs. Bobby was on his second plate when Cas joined them.

"Here, take my seat, Agent James," Bobby greeted him. "I've got to go into Frederick this morning, pick up some parts." He waved aside Cas's protests, forcing the younger man into his chair. "Make sure Dean whips up some fresh eggs for you now. Boy can cook."

Dean leaned against the counter, watching Bobby root around for a set of keys, choose a different trucker cap from the hook by the door and eventually leave with a, "Don't burn the house down," called back over his shoulder.

"You don't have to make me eggs, Dean," Cas said, looking down at his hands.

"I like making eggs," Dean muttered. "What do you like in them?"

Cas shrugged. "Everything."

"We've got mushrooms and cheese."

"That would be very nice."

Dean turned his back on Cas and began shredding more cheese. _God, are all of our conversations going to be like this from now on? Why is this so fucking awkward? I've cooked this same breakfast for dozens of women, many in this same kitchen._

"I understand that you do not wish to discuss what happened between us last night," Cas said, breaking his reverie. "I will respect your wishes, though I wanted you to know that I do not regret our actions."

Dean froze. Dangling bits of cheese fell from the grater and into the bowl with a soft plop.

"Jesus, Cas. It's really bad timing."

"Is there ever a good time?" Cas asked, lips quirking just a bit.

"And I don't – I'm not." Dean sighed and picked up a mushroom. "I don't have sex with men." He didn't dare turn around.

"I was an experiment." If he tried really hard, Dean couldn't hear the hurt in Cas's voice. He didn't reply. The eggs sizzled loudly in the frying pan, popping and bubbling along with the cheese, the mushrooms growing darker and softer. He was feeling close to calm and composed by the time he scooped the mixture out and onto a plate for Cas.

A statue with ice blue eyes looked up at him as he approached. Something he hadn't realized had been growing inside him shriveled up and died at the look in Cas's eyes.

"I removed the tracker from my phone," Cas said, as if their conversation from last night had never been interrupted, "but Uriel was expecting that. He had me followed, I believe from when I left Anna's building, if not before. The men I suspect work for Lilith followed those agents to me. Uriel may have made a pact with this Brady, but they clearly did not trust each other."

Dean also excelled at being cold and hard when the situation called for it. The situation called for it. "How much of what Uriel was doing with the prisoners did you know? Why was he going to let them escape?" He leaned forward. "You told me you thought Lilith and her group went beyond drugs and prostitution. Who the fuck are they?"

Cas's eyes narrowed. "I am Homeland Security. Who do you think they are?"

Dean stiffened. He hated to even think it. _Fucking terrorists._

"I am sure Uriel thought he could convince them he was on their side, and stop them that way. Uriel believed that the end always justified the means." Cas took a bite of his eggs and chewed slowly. "No doubt Anna told you of the events that led to her leaving the Agency." Dean grimaced and Cas continued. "I have since re-evaluated that time, and the only conclusion I can draw is that Uriel shifted blame onto Anna because she has always had a curious mind, coupled with ambition. If she had stayed with Homeland Security, I am sure she would have soon outranked him, and not being partial to his methods, she could have put a stop to him."

"That was years ago, Cas. Uriel's been off-leash that long?" Dean raised an eyebrow. That was… that was disappointing. Cas stiffened in his seat.

"I assure you, Uriel never colluded with terrorists before. He has _protected_ this country. Though I was rather blind to my brother's true nature, I admit that."

"At least until his goons tried to rearrange your face." That scored a direct hit.

"I contacted you, Detective Winchester! I reached out for your help, have you forgotten? And one of my sisters _still_ died."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you're blaming Rachel on _me_?" he snarled in Cas's face. "I never even met the woman!"

Cas leaned back in his chair, deflating a bit. "You misunderstand me. Rachel died because I contacted you, but the fault lies with me, not you."

Dean blinked. Cas's mood had changed again, from awkward to cold fury to icy calm to depressive self-blame. "That's bullshit," Dean said bluntly. "According to Uriel, Brady pulled the trigger. You were right to come to me."

Cas gave him a long, level look. _Searching for sincerity._ He nodded slowly when he found it. "Thank you, Dean." He looked back down at his plate and the remains of the scrambled eggs. "Rachel and I were friends. I can only assume that is why she volunteered to be on transport duty. She was not the… altruistic sort." He laid his fork carefully on his plate, tines down. "We had a meeting, two days ago with Raphael, to go over the transfer." He held up a hand to forestall Dean's question. "We were not having luck getting answers out of the prisoners. They were being moved to a facility with agents who are skilled in interrogation. The only reason they were at that building in Chinatown was to maintain their cover – we didn't want Lilith to know we had them. Meg and Ruby typically inhabit such places. And as for Alistair, care needed to be taken, due to his diplomatic ties."

"Back up for a sec – 'agents who are skilled in interrogation'?" Dean quoted softly.

Cas met his eyes and nodded slowly. "We are Homeland Security, Dean. There are certain… regrettable things I have done to maintain the safety of this country. 'Right' and 'wrong' are seldom easily distinguishable."

Dean could see that, lurking in Cas's eyes. He reminded Dean suddenly of Anna, her bright optimism chipped away over the years until nothing but bitter resolve remained. But though his eyes were ancient and sad with the weight of the things he'd seen, Cas wasn't there yet. There was still something whole and strangely innocent at his core. Dean was overwhelmed with the desire to keep it safe and clean.

"I understand, Cas," he said simply. Words just weren't his strong suit, but he must have been able to convey a part of what he was feeling, because Cas took a deep breath and sat up a bit straighter to continue the tale.

"The meeting we had. It was just me, Uriel, Gabriel and Rachel. Uriel said something then that I can only assume was why Rachel went looking for you later that night. I don't know what she was coming to tell you. I don't even think she was looking for _you_." He whispered the last sentence, shoulders slumping a bit again, and Dean frowned.

"Do you, uh, possibly think she was coming to meet with someone in Crowley's camp?"

Cas shook his head vehemently. "Rachel was rigid in her beliefs. She would never betray this country."

"What else was she doing there, then?" Dean asked.

"In disabling the tracker in my phone, I was also hidden from the rest of my brothers. And I was not answering any calls from Homeland Security."

"I still don't get it. What happened to finally tip you over the edge? And do you know why Rachel was in PG County?" Dean was getting a headache. Cas couldn't tell a story in a straight line, and there were too many balls in the air. _Bad choice of words._

Cas sighed. "I overheard Uriel asking permission from Raphael to arrange a tail on you after the transfer, and from the way they laughed, I knew there was something wrong about the transfer. I asked a contact of mine to tail you while I followed Uriel. Rachel wasn't present for this. She went to Hyattsville because she expected to find me there with you."

Dean crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, waiting.

"Uriel made a derogatory comment of an explicit sexual nature in regards to my relationship with you. He said this to me in our transfer meeting. Rachel overheard and drew her own conclusions from that."

_Fuck_. "What'd he say?" Dean asked, jaw tight.

"It is of no import, Dean. I am the only living person who heard it. Let it go."

Dean stared at him. He couldn't let it go. Nothing about the case was making sense. But sex, sex always made sense to him. How could he have possibly fallen off the rails with this? And how could so many people have seen what he hadn't figured out? And why the fuck was it clouding his judgment when he needed to be at the top of his game? Cas stared right back at him, challenging him. Dean could tell him he'd been wrong. He could change his statement, say that he didn't have sex with men, except for Cas. He could say that he trusted Cas, liked working with him, was developing fucking feelings for him. Or he could let it go and portray a cool, professional demeanor. Get the job done, no strings attached. Dean shifted in his chair, and his phone rang. They both flinched.

"It's Gabriel," Dean announced, his heart still pounding. "Speaker?" he offered as a courtesy to Cas. It was all he could do for the moment. Cas nodded.

"Dean-o. Tell me you've got my brother stashed someplace safe and he's not bleeding out on the floor of your no doubt sketchy apartment."

"I am perfectly safe, Gabriel," Cas said before Dean could respond.

"Ah, Castiel, good to hear your gravelly monotone. Enjoying your stay with your little–"

"Is there a _reason_ for this call, Smecher?" Dean interrupted, scowling at the phone.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Winchester. Listen, your Detective Gordon – though an arrogant little prick – has found some surveillance footage that's going to help exonerate Castiel for Rachel's murder. Uriel didn't have time to get his meaty paws on it, and Raphael has been distracted with other things."

"Well, that's good news," Dean said, silently thanking Metro Ruby. He glanced over at Cas, who was still frowning at the phone.

"What is the catch?" Cas asked.

"The, uh, other things Raphael has been distracted with. I hadn't noticed how close he and Uriel had grown – Raphael really has it in for you, bro, and he has Zachariah's ear."

"Well, that's just peachy." Dean stood up and began to pace. "What kind of power does Raphael have? What's he up to? And who the hell is Zachariah again?"

"Number Two. As for Raphael, he has the authority of being a rung above us, plus he's laid a paper trail connecting Castiel to Alistair, and Alistair is backing him up. I should have killed him rather than take him into custody," Gabriel muttered. "It's going to take me awhile to unravel."

"But you believe in my innocence?" Cas asked. He was sitting ramrod straight, hands clasped between his knees as he stared intently at the phone.

"He'd have to be more of an idiot than I already think he is to believe you capable of betrayal," Dean told him. Cas met his eyes and Dean couldn't look away.

"Aw, that's sweet, truly it is," Gabriel said. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to it while I go do the real work."

"Fuck off, Smecher."

"Thank you, Gabriel," Cas said with a hint of rebuke. Dean reached out and ended the call.

"I can't say that was especially helpful," he grumbled. "You're persona non grata at Homeland Security. Tell me something I don't know."

Cas's shoulders slumped, and Dean inwardly cursed his big, stupid mouth. It was like kicking a puppy. A stray puppy, with big eyes and a head tilt–

"Anyhow," Dean continued, clearing his throat. "We got a little off track there. Why did Uriel decide to go after you? Even if he thought we were fucking–" He managed to get it out without stumbling over the word, give him a cookie. "How did that affect him? Do you think he thought we were working together, or that you wouldn't go along with his plan in Chinatown?"

Cas gave him a level look for the 'fucking' comment. "I suspect that Uriel decided I was no longer firmly in his camp when I disabled my tracker, and the agents he sent were to be more of a persuasive force than a violent one. They were not expecting Lilith's men to be following _them_ , however."

Dean's heart rate increased as a surge of anger shot through him as he recalled the bruises on Cas's back. "Didn't exactly go smoothly, now did it?" Cas remained silent, and Dean tamped down on his anger, trying to focus. "The Mall's a very public place, Cas," he said after a moment. "I mean, if I was going to kidnap someone, I wouldn't do it in the shadow of a national monument."

"I'll keep that in mind," Cas murmured.

Dean's eyes widened at the attempt for a joke, but Cas just gave him a look like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"And they did not kidnap me from the pond," Cas continued. "It was, as you said, a very public place. I did not wish any harm to befall the civilians around us. They broke my phone, but I allowed the agents to lead me away. That area is full of government buildings, as you know, so they forced me into a van." Dean had to admire the calm way Cas conveyed the events, almost as if they had happened to someone else. The tightening around his eyes was the only indication that he was not quite as detached as he seemed. "They brought me to a building in Anacostia, and that is when Lilith's people made themselves known."

"But on the phone, at the pond, you said Lilith's people had found you."

"Yes. I was to meet an informant who had files from one of Lilith's side businesses – financial records, possible locations, people Lilith is blackmailing, perhaps. When she did not show, I believed myself to be compromised. The only reason Lilith's men attacked my abductors was to get to me, to find out how much I knew."

"And your informant?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "What happened to her?"

Cas hesitated. "She can be… slippery. I have not been able to call her since then to ascertain either her whereabouts or her current level of health."

"Great. So you set Godzilla and Mothra against each other and got away, but our link to Lilith is twisting in the breeze somewhere."

Cas winced, his hand going to his ribs in what Dean was sure was an unconscious move. "I can get another message to her in twenty-four hours. It's our standard policy if we miss a meeting. She will contact me then, if she yet lives."

The shaky breath he drew belied his calm pronouncement. The nice thing to do would be to tell him it wasn't his fault, and the Sam thing would be to throw in a hug, but Dean didn't trust himself. If he put his arms around Cas, he wouldn't be able to let go, and something he had never acknowledged out loud would see the light of day. Therefore he could not afford to be nice.

"Good," he said gruffly. He began to gather the plates and silverware from the table. "You should be back in bed. I'm going to clean up, then I have an appointment at noon in Northeast."

"I do not need additional rest."

Dean snorted. "They beat the shit out of you yesterday, Cas."

"That did not stop you last night!"

The plates fell with a clatter, thankfully into the sink. Dean's mouth opened and closed wordlessly, but he wouldn't have been heard anyway, as Cas continued, raising his voice.

"And you do not wish to talk about it due to your own sense of confused sexuality. Okay, I won't make the mistake of desiring you again. But, Dean, you cannot deny that we have a bond here. Not just sexual, and not just from this case. I saved you in Chinatown, and you saved me. Do not send me to bed as if I were a child."

He turned and left the kitchen, the dramatic exit only somewhat spoiled by his shuffling gait. Dean watched him go, taking a steadying breath. _Shit, shit, and fuck._ He scrubbed at the frying pan and the little curls of egg still sticking to the bottom. The front door slammed, Cas making good his Great Escape.

Dean's best relationship to date had been with a woman named Cassie. 'Best' was a loose term. He had thought it could have a future, but it hadn't. She didn't like that he was a cop, and he couldn't stop being one. Before Cassie and after Cassie were just a string of one-night stands, all women, a few of which he would even hesitantly call friends, like Anna. But no one he really confided in. No one he would expect anything from, or who would expect anything from him. And that's what had been in Cas's voice. Disappointment.

He slowly dried his hands on a dish towel.

The screen door rebounded loudly against the doorframe as he stepped out onto the porch. When he and Sam were kids, they used to read comics on the porch swing, Dean keeping them in motion with one leg on the ground. Cas sat there now, the old swing creaking its protest, and looking completely out of place with his stiff posture. He ignored Dean lowering himself to the porch steps.

"I'm a bit of an asshole, Cas," Dean said finally. Cas grunted. "I don't know what I'm doing here," he tried again. "I don't mean just you and your… you-ness. I mean everything with this case, and the looking over our shoulders all the time, and…"

Silence descended on the porch, broken only by the occasional squeak of the swing. Dean sucked at apologies, Sam always told him so, and he couldn't think of a thing to say to Cas that he would both definitely mean and wouldn't sound like a Hallmark Moment. He was just starting to think that he should get up and go, when Cas spoke.

"If I were a better man, I would regret getting you involved in this."

Dean swiveled around to get a better look at the other man. Cas was watching him, typically intense.

"But I am not. I am glad you are here."

Dean looked away first. From his perch on the steps, he could see down the dirt road, cutting through fields of thick meadow grasses and wildflowers. The Salvage Yard was at his back, behind the house, and the barn jutted up on his left. He'd spent every summer of his youth hiding in the fields, or the yard, or the barn. Nothing much had changed, apparently.

"You remind me of this friend I had when I was a kid," Dean said. "He was always optimistic that I'd be a better person than I was. I'm not, Cas. I don't mean to let you down, but I'm going to at some point."

"I think I can be the judge of that," Cas said dryly.

"No, you don't get it," Dean argued back, and dammit why was he bringing up Jimmy now? His memories of Jimmy were very carefully buried, and for good reason. "He, ah…"

"Did you have sexual relations with him?" Cas asked, tilting his head.

"Jesus, Cas!" he yelped.

"Well, I don't understand why you are telling me this, and considering your hang-ups, I thought maybe that was the connection."

"Okay, look – when we were fourteen, he told me he wanted to. With me. And I pushed him away and never talked to him again. So see? I'm a terrible person." Dean looked resolutely out at the fields. He'd played tag football with Jimmy in those fields for several summers, before The Thing.

"You sound like you were a child, Dean, not a terrible person." Cas sighed. "I don't wish to downplay the effect your actions may have taken on him." Dean finally looked up at him, wondering what it must be like for him, even in this day and age. Surely Uriel had made other taunts at his expense over the course of their partnership. He'd probably thought he was insanely funny, the funniest agent in the department. "But I speak from experience when I say that these things do not have to forever ruin an individual."

The moment stretched out between them, a moment that covered more than half of Dean's lifetime, before he finally nodded and let his breath out in a loud puff.

"Thanks, Cas," he mumbled.

"I merely corrected your erroneous assumptions," Cas replied. Dean snorted and climbed to his feet.

"Eighteen years of guilt over how I treated Jimmy, and you absolve me in two minutes. We should have a heart-to-heart about how I feel over killing Meg, I could do cartwheels afterwards."

"You wish to have a heart-to-heart over Meg?" Cas asked with a puzzled frown.

"Nah. I should have _something_ to feel guilty about, even if it's for not feeling guilty that she's dead." He held out his hand and pulled Cas out of the creaky swing. "Besides, I'd miss the nightmares."

"You are a very strange individual, Dean."

"That's why you love me," Dean responded automatically, and froze. _Shit! Brain, speak to the mouth! SPEAK, dammit!_ "It's just an expression," he stammered.

"I am aware of it." Cas opened the screen door and gestured for Dean to enter first. "Now, about your meeting at noon today–"

"Yeah, fine, you can come," Dean interrupted him. "I'm going to see the dude who hacked into your file for me. The two of you will… actually, you'll probably hate him. He's an odd duck."

"Various people have called me an odd duck, too," Cas said. "I have found it wise not to dwell on what other people say."

***

Dean parked the Impala outside Ash's rowhouse a little before noon. The interior of his car was filled with the glorious scent of Roy Rogers, causing Cas's nose to wrinkle against the smell. Dean barked a laugh as they climbed out of the car.

"No wonder you and Sammy got along so well. He hates that I eat this shit." Dean gave the fast food bag a little jiggle. "Mmmm, I can smell my arteries clogging."

Ash himself greeted them at the door with a loud, "Is that my fried chicken?" and a massive double-take on seeing Cas.

"Dude! Dude!" he yelped. "Dude, that's the dude who – dude!" He stuttered, poking at Dean's arm. "What's going on, dude?"

"Cas, the articulate dude is Ash, hacker extraordinaire and connoisseur of fine foods. Ash, you already know Agent James."

"Huh? Oh, _that_ agent."

"I think it would be prudent to move this conversation indoors," Cas said with an irritable twitch of his shoulders. Ash flashed Cas an obsequious grin and flattened himself against the wall, letting the two of them go first down the stairs to his apartment. He was still staring after Cas with wide eyes.

"What is with you?" Dean hissed at Ash. "I was expecting you to quiz him on government conspiracies or submit to a search or something, not for you to become a quivering puddle of fanboy goo."

"Dean… he's The Man. You have to put up a front for The Man."

Dean paused mid-step, holding out his arm so that Ash bumped into it and stumbled. Cas paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking up.

"We're going to get this straight right now," Dean declared. "Ash. Cas is not here in an official capacity. He's not going to take you into custody or steal your toys. You are expressly forbidden to poison his food, or tie his shoelaces together, or anything that harms a hair on his head. Capiche?"

"I wasn't gonna do anything!" Ash protested. "Much," he mumbled under his breath.

"Well, I'm saying we're on the same side. Don't fuck with him."

"All right, all right! What about him, you gonna tell _him_ not to fuck with _me_?" Ash gestured broadly at Cas, almost hitting Dean in the nose.

"I assure you, I have no intention of fucking with you," Cas said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Ash a look that, yeah, Dean could interpret as meaning 'I will fuck your shit up.' _Awesome._

"There will be no fucking going on whatsoever," Dean stated, ignoring the glint of amusement that suddenly entered Cas's eyes. "We're going to feast on the sustenance Mr. Roy Rogers has kindly provided for us, and then we're going to work together to unravel a… clusterfuck."

Ash moved past Dean with a toss of his mullet. Cas didn't move from in front of the door, subtly crowding the other man as he fumbled for keys and unlocked the many locks on his apartment door. Dean shook his head. He should've left Cas at Bobby's. On the other hand, having him here might cut through some of Ash's crap.

"Okay, Ash," Dean said after Ash finally got the door open and was locking it again behind them, "what's this thing you wanted me to see in person?"

Ash cut his eyes at Cas. "It might shock your G-Man."

Cas just looked at him. Ash led them into his office, muttering under his breath, and plopped himself with a loud huff into his desk chair.

"Okay," he said, punching some keys and pulling up a file, "you know how I said, way back when you first gave me this, that I would start with the babes and then look at the dude? Well, the dude got a whole lot more interesting last night." He poked a finger at his screen. "This is a record of all calls coming into the Romanian Embassy for the past three days. In your G-Man's file, Alistair Drac was a Romanian diplomat. But after his arrest, there were no phone calls between Homeland Security and the Romanian Embassy. I traced the numbers. They order from Flippin' Pizza, they call home a lot and the Ambassador has a weekly chess game with the Nigerian Ambassador. Can you explain that, G-Man?"

"The thrill of chess is a worldwide phenomenon," Cas stated.

Ash paused for a moment and then burst into laughter. "Okay, okay, G-man, you can stay," he chortled, grabbing for a Roy Rogers bag and shoving some fries into his mouth. "'Worldwide phenomenon,'" he quoted, spraying potato on his screen.

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed for a few fries himself. "You thought he was with the Romanian Embassy, didn't you, Cas?" he asked.

"Yes," Cas said, frowning at the screen. "And I'm sure Gabriel thinks so, too. I tried to get in to see them about Alistair, but Raphael kicked it up to Zachariah and my request was denied." Dean and Ash exchanged a glance. Dean hoped the other man could keep his mouth shut about exactly how much of Cas's file they had already read. "Negotiations at that level are considered rather delicate. Arresting a diplomat is just not done, there are international treaties in place to protect them. When we took Alistair, Zachariah had to deal with the fall-out."

"So the Number Two agent is definitely in on it," Dean murmured. Cas scowled at his feet, no doubt dwelling on how much his brothers were a bunch of dicks. Dean tore his gaze away from him and focused on Ash, watching the two of them with narrowed eyes. "Hey, you," Dean said, cuffing him gently on the side of the head. "If he's not a Romanian diplomat, you have some idea of who he actually is?"

"Dude! Careful of the hair!" Ash protested. "And of course I do. I don't even think he's Romanian." He punched a few more keys, and the phone log minimized to be replaced with a grainy video feed. "This here is from the hard drive of the late hero, Ronald Reznick."

Cas started and Dean shifted on his feet and crossed his arms, pursing his lips. Reznick was still a sore point. There was a bit of an awkward silence before Cas sighed. "I take it this will explain why Ruby and Meg were sent to kill him."

"Yeah, I'd say so. Believe me, I'm very glad you have this animal in custody."

Dean shot Cas a quick glance.

"You do still have him in custody, right?" Ash asked.

"You know that stuff I said I had to tell you?" Dean began. "Well–"

"You're shitting me!" Ash jumped up from his seat. "Oh, man! Fuck! We're dead men, Dean!"

"Calm down, you freak!" Dean yelled at him. "We got him back." He waited until Ash was sitting again before mumbling, "Except you just told us the head guy holding him is probably corrupt."

Ash snorted. "You never fail to bring the excitement, Dean-o. Do you remember that time with those hookers–"

Cas cleared his throat. "Perhaps we can watch this ever-so-incriminating video now."

"What he said," Dean chimed in, fighting against a squirm. It wasn't like Cas was his… something. But he really didn't want Ash to tell him about the hookers. That they hadn't actually paid for, but still. Not his most honorable moment.

Ash maximized the screen, and the scene unfolded. It was the interior of a warehouse, dank and dark. Someone's harsh breathing, presumably Ronald Reznick's, filled the speakers. Footsteps sounded from offscreen, approaching the right side of the screen, and brought light with them. Both Dean and Cas leaned forward as crates were revealed.

"What's in the–" Dean started.

"Patience, my son," Ash intoned. "All will be revealed."

Dean grunted and turned back to the screen. Alistair moved into view behind the man with the light. Dean frowned as the man's face moved out of shadow. "Tyson Brady," he whispered. "Crowley's lieutenant."

Cas nodded, eyes fixed on the crates. Dean kept one eye on him, and one on the screen. The content of the crates was the crux of the matter, even more important than Uriel's motivations or who Alistair was working for. What did it matter if it was Alistair or Lilith who rained terror down on DC, to those who were getting rained on? Cas licked his lips and moved a step closer to the screen as Alistair pried open the lid on one of the crates.

There was a cooler inside, they saw as Brady lifted it out. He carried it very carefully to a plain wooden table in the center of the screen.

"Well?" Alistair's voice came out in a nasal drawl. It was an ugly sound.

"As you can see, it's what you ordered," Brady replied. "Feel free to check the other crates. I wouldn't want to give you a reason to distrust me, Drac."

"Brady, I'm offended. We're all to be one big happy family now, didn't you get the memo?"

Brady gave him a smile that was so smarmy, it even registered on the grainy video. "I don't need a memo! Any friend of Lilith's is a friend of mine."

Alistair gave him an answering smile, full of sharp teeth. "Lilith is on schedule. See Crowley about your payment."

"I intend to. Congress won't even know what hit them for at least a couple of weeks." Brady pried open the other two crates. The sound of Ronald Reznick's breathing got louder as the camera zoomed in on the cooler. Dean, Cas and Ash all leaned closer so their noses were nearly pressed to the monitor.

"Niveus," Dean whispered. "What is that? Cas?"

Cas had taken a step back, his face going pale.

"Cas?" Dean asked again. There was a sound from the video, out of Reznick's camera range, and the screen went black. "Cas! Do you want to share with the class? You know what that stuff is, don't you?"

"It's… it's not supposed to exist. It's an abomination." Cas took a shaky breath. "I must contact Gabriel immediately."

"That's great, but _what is it_?" Dean reached out and grabbed Cas's arm before he could leave them with that cryptic statement. "No secrets, Cas, come on."

Cas licked his lips. "Several months ago, we received intel that a pharmaceutical company in New Jersey was developing a slow-acting chemical agent that, when dissolved in a water supply, would begin to cause hallucinations, followed by severe nausea and finally bleeding from the eyes and death."

Dean's stomach twisted. "Well that sounds awesome. How the fuck did this stuff get out?"

Cas shook his head, scowling. "It _didn't_ , Dean. Production was shut down, the chemical safely destroyed."

Ash snorted. "I bet." Both Dean and Cas glared at him. "Hey, I'm being serious! I'm sure the DOD has a dozen chemical weapons ten times worse than that. Why would they want competition, and on American soil?"

Dean gave him an exasperated look, but he didn't miss Cas's appraising glance at Ash. Great. The Department of Defense's modes of mass killing was not something he particularly _wanted_ to think about.

"If it was destroyed, how'd it get on ol' Ronnie's video?" he asked. "Ash, when was this shot?"

"Week before Ronald died. So six weeks ago."

"Then that would make it… after the plant was shut down?" Dean asked, turning to Cas. "How do you know it's the same place?"

"Niveus. It was the name of the company," Cas said. "Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I must call Gabriel now." He reached into his pocket and paused. Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting. "Dean. My phone is defunct. I need to borrow yours."

"How'd Alistair get his hands on supposedly destroyed chemical warfare, huh?" Dean asked, leaning back against a counter and making no move to hand over his phone. He was almost amused by the look of consternation on Cas's face. No secrets meant no fucking secrets.

"I do not _know_ , Dean. Perhaps Gabriel will be able to find that out. But he won't know to look until I call him. So give me your phone." His voice got even lower and gruffer when he was angry. Dean found it was difficult to tear his eyes away from Cas's lips. They could use some Chapstick, but he knew firsthand how soft they could be. And how bruising. "Dean. I am not _deliberately_ keeping something from you. But I must warn Gabriel, and he must check to see if the water supply for Congress has already been contaminated."

Dean felt a twinge of guilt for letting his personal pissing contest sidetrack him for a minute. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled, handing over his phone, but Ash beat him to the punch.

"No, dude, use one of my phones, then it can't be traced." He led Cas to a corner of the office and set him up with a phone apparatus that looked unnecessarily complicated.

Dean hitched his shoulders, trying to refocus. Brady was more thoroughly mired in this than he had thought, and Rufus needed to know.

Rufus picked up on the first ring. "Quit bugging me, tadpole."

"What does that make you, the ugly-ass bullfrog? Whatever, old man, listen up. Brady is extremely dangerous–"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"And he's planning something huge against, uh, our big brother." He paused for a minute. Was Ash rubbing off on him, or was he just becoming a paranoid freak? "Look. _Be fucking careful_. Can you get out to Bobby's tonight with whatever you have?"

"You inviting me to dinner?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's a date." Did he just imagine it, or did Cas look over from his spot in the corner at the word 'date'? He'd probably imagined it. "Later, Rufus."

Cas hung up with Gabriel as he approached. "Raphael sent a team to New Jersey to close down the plant two months ago," he said, his voice strained. Dean's stomach dropped.

"I'm sorry, man," he said. Shit, should he give him a comforting shoulder squeeze or something? _Sorry your brothers are either incompetent or total traitors, let's get naked._ Dean shifted his feet. Cas was watching his mouth, waiting for what he'd say next, and without thinking, Dean licked his lips.

"Whoopsy-daisy!" Ash exclaimed as he dropped his half-full cup of Dr Pepper in Cas's lap. Cas immediately sprang to his feet, ice tumbling to the floor, and made a grab for the fast food bag and the napkins contained therein.

"Dammit, Ash, you klutz!" Dean chided him, his heart racing, and used his own napkin to blot at Cas's pants. They were an old pair of Dean's jeans he'd left at Bobby's years ago, faded and soft and oh-so-familiar. It took Dean a moment to realize that he was mere inches away from fondling Cas's crotch, and when he did, he snatched his hand back, hoping Ash hadn't noticed.

"Sorry about that, Cas," Ash apologized.

"These are not my clothes," Cas responded. Dean couldn't tell what he meant by that – were they therefore not important? His shoulders tensed. He had enjoyed seeing Cas in his clothing, much to his chagrin. "Where is your restroom? Perhaps I can save them. They are very comfortable."

"Down the hall and on the right." Ash waited until Cas had left the room before rounding on Dean. "Dude!" he hissed. "When were you going to tell me you were boinking the spook?"

Dean gaped at him. "What?"

"Don't give me that innocent look, Dean-o! I am Ash the Wizard! I can always ferret out sex." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You're the bottom, aren't you?"

"Ash!" Dean squawked. "What the fuck, man? Were you paying attention to anything that just happened? Chemical warfare on U.S. soil, ring a bell?"

"Yeah it sucks, but your sex life is an awesome distraction. I bet you'd make for a bossy bottom," Ash mused.

"Shut the fuck up!" Dean glanced at the door, half-expecting Cas to be standing there, but the doorway was still clear. "First, no one's fucking anybody," he lied, "and secondly, why the hell do you think I'd be the bottom?"

Okay, he hadn't been planning to ask that. Ash raised his brows at him.

"Dean. Do you need to borrow my copy of _The Joy of Gay Sex_?"

He'd fallen into the Twilight Zone, that was all there was to it.

"I do _not_ need sex advice from you," he said firmly.

"Suit yourself." Ash shrugged his shoulders. "But I'm gonna tell you something whether or not you want to hear it. That dude?" He inclined his head towards the hall. "Is really into you." Ash finally lowered his voice. "So I think he'd be a good one to have _get into you_ , know what I'm sayin?"

"And here's what _I'm_ saying: fuck off, Ash." Dammit, his face was on fire. What was he, twelve? That was the last time he'd been embarrassed about sex.

When Cas walked back into the room, Dean's eyes immediately flicked to his crotch. Checking for Dr Pepper, he told himself, but really remembering the weight of Cas in his hand from last night and imagining just what that would feel like inside of him. He gave himself a shake, and caught Ash leering at him.

Dean cleared his throat. "Okay. We need to try to figure out when this thing's going to go down." Fuck, what if they'd already _started_? "Cas, how long does it take to work?"

"The first symptoms appear two weeks after first exposure, give or take a day. I doubt most people in the Congressional buildings drink from water fountains. Most of the exposure would be through hand-washing, which may take longer." Cas sighed. "It is not easily traceable, Dean. We won't be able to tell what water supplies have been contaminated until people start hallucinating."

Dean suppressed the urge to shiver. Fuck. "But after it starts. Is it curable?" Cas hesitated and Dean's stomach fell to his shoes. "Cas?"

"It's possible, Dean." Their eyes met and held. "But the antidote was manufactured by the same company. If they were willing to sell their goods to terrorists, my confidence is not high in the effectiveness of their cure."

"Really?" Ash asked. "'Cause I was betting they made this killer drug, right, and then they secretly poison shitloads of people, and wow, look, we just happen to have a cure! And we'll sell it to you for all the gold in someplace that has a lot of gold. And they make out like bandits." Ash leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on a counter. "Hell, it's the plot to every spy story ever. How can you not know that?"

Cas glared at him, but Dean forestalled him. "We don't need any conspiracy theories, Ash, the real thing is bad enough."

"Dean is correct," Cas declared, and Dean fought the urge to preen at the praise. "We should focus on how and when they plan to attack Congress. Is there anything more in Mr. Reznick's hard drive?"

Ash rolled his eyes. "Why are you asking me? Didn't you take his shit when you covered up his murder?"

Cas shifted his stance, just a miniscule change, but he seemed to loom over Ash, and even Dean could feel the menace in his gaze.

"Stop it, both of you!" he barked. "We're on the same fucking side – remember it!" He waited until both Cas and Ash were giving him their undivided (sullen) attention before starting again. "Obviously there was nothing about _this_ on the drives that Cas had access to. And let's keep in mind that Cas was not responsible for Reznick's death."

Ash sighed, his feet falling from the counter to the floor with a thump. "I'm sorry, man. I just get irrational about poor Ronnie. I don't mean to attack your bosom buddy." He stuck out his hand. "Whaddya say, G-Man?"

Dean really, really wanted to strangle him, but Cas hesitated only a moment before shaking Ash's hand. "I, too, do not mean to cause aggravation."

"Awesome. Now before we all turn into Care Bears, how do you think Ruby and Meg knew Ron had this on tape?" Dean asked.

Ash shrugged and rolled his chair across the floor to the empty fast food bag, his fingers poking hopefully at it. Dean ignored him, focusing instead on the crease between Cas's eyes. "Well?" he asked.

Cas didn't meet his gaze. "I doubt they knew, Dean. If they had, Ronald Reznick's place would have been utterly destroyed as they searched for it. Instead, they disappeared as quickly as they had come. I no longer think we can presume that Ruby and Meg knew of its existence. The murder was accomplished with speed and naturalness over, and nothing was disturbed."

Dean's heart began to pound. He wanted to ask a question. The _cop_ in him wanted to ask it. But the part of him that'd been all sharing and caring with Cas on Bobby's front porch that morning wanted the cop to shut up. He was saved by Ash asking the question.

"So how'd _you_ know to get to Ronnie's?" Ash had found a couple of fries that had fallen out of the bag, and he sprayed potato when he talked. "You were there right after them."

Cas sighed. "Dean–"

"Shit," Dean interrupted him. "You're going to tell us something you should have told me earlier. Aren't you?" Cas glanced at him through his lashes, his face unreadable. "Do you get off on being so mysterious?"

"No," Cas snapped. "But you seem to – get off – on accusing me of deliberately hiding everything from you. Not everything is a personal affront to you, Dean."

Dean flushed and took a step closer to Cas. "And when it's something I've asked you about repeatedly, like Ron?"

Cas also took a step closer and Dean had to stiffen his knees to avoid stepping back. For all that he had an inch or two on Cas, the other man had a trick for looming, and he employed it now. "You should trust me, Dean."

Dean stared at Cas's mouth as his lips moved. It was easier than meeting his eyes, but only just. "Cas," he started. The thing was, he _did_ trust him. But that didn't mean he didn't want to _know_. He swayed forward, dangerously close, and felt Cas's breath warm against his wet lips.

Ash cleared his throat.

Dean jumped back as if burned. _Fuuuuuuuuuck._ He ran his hand through his hair to calm himself while Ash smirked and addressed Cas.

"Not that that little scene y'all were playing out wasn't the best damn entertainment I've had in months, but I think I've figured it out." He burped. "Wow, that was loud. And not what I figured out. You _knew_ Ronnie, didn't you?"

Cas's eyes narrowed. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

Ash shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe I was inspired by watching you two try not to tongue-fuck each other."

"You're the epitome of wit, Ash." Dean was proud of how level he sounded, despite having come very close to tongue-fucking Cas right in front of his friend. He needed to get a grip and concentrate. "Well, Cas? Did you know Ron?" He held up his hand to forestall Cas's angry retort. "I _do_ trust you, man. But if we're going to figure out if Ron had more info, it would help if we knew more about him." He met Cas's gaze and held it for a drawn-out minute. Finally Cas nodded.

"I did know Mr. Reznick. I was there because he had asked me to come. You are right, Ash, when I found him dead, I did take copies of his hard drives, and the camera that recorded his death. I was unaware that a copy was automatically transferred to the hard drive you had."

Dean took a breath and counted to ten, letting it out slowly. "I _trust_ you have a good reason for keeping this a secret."

"Mr. Reznick was one of at least a dozen murders I can lay at the feet of Meg and Ruby, Dean. In all the times I spoke with him, he gave no indication that he knew who they were, or, indeed, that he knew anything of any _real_ terrorist plots against this country. I met with him because there was no harm in him." Cas paused for a moment, as if choosing his words with some care. "Usually, when we are approached by citizens who share Mr. Reznick's beliefs, they are quite antagonistic to us, or much too ingratiating. Mr. Reznick was always courteous, despite his wild notions. That is why I continued to talk to him. He was a good person, and did not deserve what happened to him."

"Well said, man," Ash said quietly, sniffling.

"So when I approached you about Reznick…" Dean started.

"I thought it a most unfortunate turn of events that in investigating me, you stumbled across what I thought to be a wholly unrelated matter."

"One in which you came out looking like a douche." Dean gave him a half-smile to half-take the sting out of his words.

"Yes, Dean, I looked like a 'douche'." Cas used air quotes on 'douche' and Dean snorted, shaking his head. How the hell did Cas manage to enrage him so soundly, before turning around and endearing himself to Dean with stupid air quotes, all in less than an hour? The smile faded from his lips, though, when Dean caught Ash giving him a sly wink with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Dean coughed into his hand.

"So! Why do you think Meg and Ruby killed him, if they didn't know that he knew… what he did know?" he asked, glancing back at the blank monitor.

Cas sighed. "I don't know, and it's not something they answered when we had them in custody. I left the original hard drives at Mr. Reznick's house in the hopes that we could catch his killers coming back to steal them. But no one ever did."

"We have to have the answer here, then!" Ash sat up straight in his chair and rolled along the counter to a laptop with a Looney Tunes screensaver playing. "These are the emails Ron sent and received in the week leading up to his death. Let's divide them up and see if there's any connection to the ninja assassins."

Ash set them up on two of his other computers and assigned a third of the emails to each of them. Dean raised his eyebrow at getting bossed around by Ash and clicked on the first one in his batch, muttering under his breath.

Ronald Reznick kept up a lively correspondence with a Deacon in Georgia, all about ghosts. Dean snorted and relegated those to the 'snowball in hell' pile. Reznick had a series of emails with a woman name Callie on the subject of bedtime stories and their importance to… Dean blinked, clearing his head, and put them in the 'too boring to deal with' pile. His eyes slid over to Cas, peering intently at his own screen. Dean tracked the tapping of his fingers on the keys and the furrowing of his brow. What the hell was it about Cas that got underneath his skin, stealing his concentration and making him trust the man, despite a pile of reasons not to?

"I believe I have something promising," Cas said, and Dean started.

"About the case," he said out loud.

"Of course, Dean." Cas gave him a measured look.

"Well don't hold us in suspense!" Ash exclaimed. "Out with it."

Cas pointed at his screen, and both Dean and Ash leaned in to get a closer look. "Mr. Reznick sent a message to his neighbor, asking if he was all right."

"And that's weird why?" Dean asked.

"Look at the email signature. His neighbor is a maintenance worker at the Capitol."

It clicked then. "You think they were using this neighbor? And what, Reznick was killed for asking questions?"

"It's possible," Cas said, nodding. "His death would also serve as a form of intimidation to Joel, the neighbor."

"Scumbags!" Ash hissed.

"We should probably pay a little visit to Joel," Dean said. Cas was already copying down the address. "Ash, see if there's any other communication with this Joel character."

"I want to go, too!"

"It's not fucking safe, Ash!" Dean glared at him. " _Stay here_." Ash was giving him his most mulish look and Dean shook his head wearily. It seemed like everyone lately was determined to disregard his extremely reasonable commands. "Okay, fine! Jesus. You need to get out of the house and do something? Gather up the shit you need and head to Bobby's. We'll have a big-ass info exchange there tonight. It'll be like the fucking Boy Scout Jamboree."

"I'm not a Boy Scout," Cas interrupted.

"It'll be like a bunch of batshit insane men, shooting the shit and getting hammered while trying to solve horrific crimes."

"I doubt Bobby has enough alcohol to get me hammered," Cas murmured.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Will you shut it, Cas?" He turned back to Ash. "Just go there, okay? And we'll let you know what Joel says."

"Okay, Dean-o." Ash laid his hand on Dean's upper arm. "For truth, justice, and the American way. You too, G-man," he added, nodding to Cas.

Cas raised an eyebrow, but inclined his head. "Come along, Dean," he said, already leading the way out of the office and down the hall. Dean swallowed his first response.

"You were the one who was being all literal and shit," he muttered under his breath. He probably should have swallowed that response, too, as he bumped straight into Cas's back.

"My apologies," Cas said stiffly.

"Dude," Dean began, and was saved having to make a further response by the ringing of his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned. He didn't recognize the number. His thumb hovered over the 'ignore' button.

"Who is calling?" Cas asked.

"On _my_ phone?" Dean shot him a sharp glance, which softened at the expression on Cas's face, anxious and hopeful at the same time, but trying for cold nonchalance. "I don't know it," he said hurriedly. "202-555-2327."

Cas grabbed the phone. "Ms. Rosen?"

Dean blinked. An indecipherable screechy voice issued forth from his phone.

"Are you safe? Where are you?" Cas asked.

Dean's lips formed the word 'who,' but Cas just raised his hand in a hush gesture and turned his back on him. Well, then.

"It is all right, Ms. Rosen. Detective Winchester and I will be there in twelve minutes."

Dean frowned. What the hell?

The Peanuts-cartoon voice squawked once more before Cas terminated the call and handed the phone back to Dean.

"We must pick Ms. Rosen up before we see Joel," he informed Dean.

"Oh, must we?" Dean's eyebrows were threatening to climb clear off his forehead.

"Yes." Cas turned to climb the stairs.

"The hell, Cas!" Dean exploded. "What the fuck were we just talking about? You going to tell me who this Ms. Rosen is? Where is she? Where are we taking her? How the fuck does she have my number?"

Cas did not even pause on the steps. "I was planning to tell you on the way. It would save time, and time is quite precious for the continued well-being of Ms. Rosen."

Dean swore under his breath and followed after him. Cas did not speak again until he was buckled into the passenger side of the Impala.

"We are going to a Starbucks on New York Ave, Northeast," Cas said. "There we will meet Ms. Rosen, my informant. We will be taking her to a hiding place belonging to her boyfriend."

"Your informant into Lilith's group, seriously?" Dean started the car. Of course New York Ave was in the wrong direction of this one-way road. "How the hell'd she know to call me?"

Cas hesitated. "I may have forwarded my emergency number to your phone. Only Ms. Rosen has that number."

Dean was very tempted to let loose with his annoyance over yet another thing Cas hadn't told him before, but he stopped himself, counted to five, and said, "I'm honored that you trust me with receiving your emergency messages."

It was a good call, as Cas gave him one of his rare smiles.  


Chapter VII  
Drove him to the coffin like a hammer and a nail

Ms. Rosen, or Becky as she breathlessly told Dean when she slid into the backseat, was a bit of a surprise. Somewhere in her mid-twenties, a bottle blonde, and dressed like a Japanese schoolgirl, she also apparently lacked a 'quiet' mode.

"You're Castiel's Detective Winchester?" she asked, leaning over the seat and coming dangerously close to spilling her frappaccino on his baby's upholstery. She frowned at his glare. "Okay, I guess you're grumpy enough, but I thought you'd be taller. And clean-shaven." _Clean-shaven?_ "Anyhow, Castiel, I've got loads to tell you. Can I speak freely in front of the dick?"

Dean slammed on the breaks. "Dick? Listen, lady, I'm the one hauling your ass around town. It's _Detective Winchester_ , not 'dick'. This ain't _Shaft_."

"I am sure Ms. Rosen meant no disrespect," Cas said, holding up his hand to prevent Becky from speaking. "And to answer your question," he continued, giving her a piercing look, "anything you would tell me you may tell Dean."

That was more like it.

"Good we got that settled. Now where am I heading?" Dean shot Becky a smug look in the rearview mirror.

"It's a couple blocks from Catholic University," Becky answered and took a loud sip through her straw. "So, Castiel. I'm sorry I couldn't meet you; it was horrible at work. Nancy was murdered!"

Cas looked at her sharply. "Why?"

"I don't even know. She didn't know anything about Lilith. A total sweetheart – if you turn right here it's a shortcut," she interrupted herself as they passed through an intersection. "Or we could go out of our way."

"Dude, a little warning!" Dean protested. "So wait, your co-worker was murdered? Do you actually work for Lilith?"

"Well, sort of. It's a front company, you see, totally legit. I had no idea she was a flesh peddler when I signed on, trust me! Nancy and I worked the front desk at 'War in My Soul' – it's this New Age self-help place."

Dean stopped at a red light. "I think I've seen their ads in the metro. Looks like a load of tripe."

"Excuse me, but that's my job you're talking about!" Becky said huffily.

"For a madam and God knows what else?" Dean cocked one eyebrow up at her. She pursed her lips and nodded. _One point to Dean_.

The light turned green and he focused back on the road.

"Anyhow, Castiel, I had wanted to bring you those files you asked for, but I needed both mine and Nancy's key to get into War's office–"

"Wait, the guru calls himself War? Seriously? What a douche!"

"Dean," Cas said a bit testily. "Please hold your opinions until Ms. Rosen has been able to relay _all_ of the information."

"Sorry," he mumbled. That time he did not look up at the mirror. Becky probably would have been smirking.

"But never fear, I was a total stealth ninja! The cops showed up at the office before I was supposed to meet you, right, and said, 'oh, sorry, sweet Nancy is dead, can you take us to her place?' And of course I said yes, and we went over there and when the cop dudes weren't looking," she paused to draw breath, "I stole her key! Nancy would've wanted me to have it. You know what was weird? Nancy was hit by a truck, which must be a horrible way to die, but she didn't have her phone with her! We went back to the office, and it was in her desk drawer. I was helping the cops pack up her stuff, but they weren't really paying attention. I think they thought it was totally an accident, but I'm sure it was murder. I switched her phone with mine, which is why you couldn't reach me, and I brought you her phone. You'll find out who did it, right? Nancy was a total sweetheart. I think she was even a virgin! It's so sad!" She burst into tears.

Dean exchanged an alarmed look with Cas, but before either of them could try out a 'there, there,' Becky continued her story.

"And then I had to wait until yesterday to get the files, because there were all these strangers in the office. You know, about Nancy. I think they worked for Lilith. They may have been watching me to see if I was disloyal! Though really, I don't know how Nancy could have possibly known about Lilith. But she must've, because those assholes totally murdered her!" She clenched her little fist and nodded fiercely.

Dean glanced at Cas again. Though it sounded to him like Nancy had legitimately been hit by a truck, there were way too many coincidental deaths in this case.

"And you have to turn left at the next light," Becky interrupted his train of thought. She sucked air loudly through her straw and gave the near-empty plastic cup a mournful look. "So anyway, let me give you the stuff." She reached into her purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick and an iPhone and passed them over the front seat to Cas. "Second right, Detective Dean, and then he's the fifth house on the left."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean muttered, but Becky ignored his sarcasm. He was on a familiar street, come to think of it. He'd taken his Confidential Informant home from a bar a couple of times. Chuck Shurley lived down this street, in a house with green peeling paint and a poorly-cut lawn. It was, in fact, the fifth house on the left.

***

"I can't believe you'd cheat on me."

Chuck was squirming again, but Dean didn't care. Chuck was _his_ CI, dammit, and his best one, despite the alcoholism. Who the hell else was he selling secrets to?

"It's not – it's not _cheating_ , Dean, see, you and Agent James are on the same side, right?" Chuck rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted from foot to foot in the middle of his kitchen, slipping a bit in his oversized wool socks. The frayed belt of his ratty bathrobe trailed the ground, digging a trench through the top layer of food and dust scuzz on the kitchen floor with each shift of Chuck's feet.

"What about all the others?" Dean turned his glare on Cas. "Did you know about this?"

"Contrary to your favorite opinion, Dean, I do not exist to make your life miserable or, how would you put it – 'play with your toys.'" Cas gave him a disgusted look, and Dean flushed a bit. He probably deserved that.

"Sorry, Cas," he mumbled.

"Everyone needs to stop yelling at my boyfriend. He's done you both loads of favors. And he doesn't talk to other cops. They're pigs." Becky stalked right through their little stand-off to get to the fridge. "Chuck, where's my tea? Did you drink all my tea? There's no whiskey in it!"

"I wouldn't drink your tea, Becky!" Chuck protested. "That tea is special lady-tea!"

"It's just tea! How can you be so sexist?"

Dean caught Cas's eye and nodded his head at the hallway. They left Chuck digging himself deeper into a hole of sexist tea.

"How long have you known Chuck?" Dean asked from the living room.

"Chuck Shurley and I attended elementary school together."

Dean blinked. That would be… probably thirty years or so. Okay, he was going to lose the Chuck Affection Battle.

"He has been an informant for me for the past several years," Cas continued. "I did not know he was also working with you, else I would not have asked him to follow you two nights ago."

"Wait, what? Chuck was our tail? This Chuck?" He didn't wait for Cas's nod, but barreled down the hall and into the kitchen, calling Chuck's name. "CHUCK!"

Chuck and Becky broke off their argument, Chuck's face blanching at the expression on Dean's. "I see you figured… in my defense, it was really awkward for me, too."

"You should have told me you knew who you were tailing, Chuck," Cas said. Dean hadn't heard Cas behind him, but he was there now, frowning for all he was worth at Chuck.

"I didn't know how to say that! How do you tell a dude – no, a friend! – how do you say, 'Hey, sorry, man, but your boyfriend is totally stepping out on you with a chick'?"

Dean ground his teeth together. What was with everyone lately? "First off," he gestured with his fingers between him and Cas, "we're not together. There is nothing here, here. And second, how could _you_ not tell _me_ you were following me!"

Chuck stared at him a moment, eyes opened wide. "Um. This is uncomfortable."

"Forget it, Chuck." Cas's voice was frosty. "Dean and I must leave anyway, now that Ms. Rosen is safe with you."

"Hey, I wasn't finished–" Dean started.

"Yes you were."

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen. The front door slammed a moment later. Dean looked back at Chuck and Becky. Chuck was avoiding his gaze, but Becky seemed to have forgotten her anger at Chuck in favor of glaring at Dean.

"If you break his heart, I will cut out your tongue," she said ominously.

"Anyone ever tell you you're nuts?" Dean asked. He gave his shoulders an irritable hitch. Cas could damn well wait for him, giving out orders like he was Big Man on Campus. "And don't make a habit of telling law enforcement you're going to cut out their tongues. A petty man would throw you in lock-up for that."

Becky shook her head at him. "I have no idea what he sees in you."

_You and me both._ He turned to Chuck. "We'll talk about this later. I need to go save the world now."

"Good luck with that," Chuck said seriously.

Cas was already sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, seatbelt buckled and hands folded in his lap, when Dean stomped down Chuck's front steps. He was wearing the inscrutable look again. It seemed to fit more naturally than Dean's old shirt.

"After we interview Joel," Cas said as Dean turned the key in the ignition, "I will take a cab to a hotel."

Dean's hand froze on the gear shift, the car still in park. "What?"

"It is clear to me now that I am a burden to you, and I do not appreciate feeling this way. My injuries are much better now. I will simply lay low in an inconspicuous hotel until such time as this case is wrapped and I may return to work."

"Fuck, Cas, I didn't mean–"

"Yes, you did. Else you would not have said it." Cas looked out the window, his jaw tight. "I am a grown man. It is foolish for me to feel something for someone who cannot return it. I would prefer to be alone."

Becky was going to cut out his tongue. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what he wanted to say. Tell Cas it might not be hopeless, that he was already seeping under Dean's skin and invading his daydreams? Or agree that it was best if they just kept everything strictly professional between them? Cas took the decision away.

"Do you need directions to Joel's house?" he asked.

"I can figure it out." It was about the only thing he could.

***

Joel was dead, according to his landlady, committed suicide the same day Ronald Reznick was killed. She barely glanced at Dean's badge before unlocking his apartment for them. Dean cursed under his breath as he stood in the middle of the third floor apartment.

It was completely empty – walls painted over, carpet replaced, even the fridge was new.

"Standard policy," the landlady said. "Besides, Joel had hisself a little dog. Shat all over the damn carpet before you people came and got his body. Going crazy in here. Fucking rude of Joel, blowing his brains out over my walls and leaving that yippy mongrel here."

Cas glared at her. Dean suspected Cas was more of a cat person, but the mental image of the abandoned dog was pretty powerful, he'd admit.

"Where can we find the dog?" Dean asked. The landlady looked at him blankly.

"You want a dog? Big men like you ain't gonna want a lap dog."

"We are not that kind of partner," Cas said icily. "And we want to see this specific dog."

The landlady blinked at Cas several times. Dean guessed she was the type of landlady who reveled in her power and didn't really deal with complaints.

"Sherri. Second floor," she said finally. "She was a little sweet on Joel. Not that they were fucking, mind you, Sherri was way out of Joel's league. But she thought he was a nice old man. Old, my ass, he was forty, _maybe_. Me, I'm sure he was a total pervert. Worked for politicians, and all them be perverts."

"Thanks so much for your help," Dean cut her off. "We'll be sure to let you know if we have any more questions."

"Yeah, okay, but I'm going out tonight. I have plans. With a gentleman friend."

"We have no interest in your plans," Cas said. He pushed by her to leave, heading for the stairs.

"Uh," Dean said. It was weird being the polite one. He and Rufus traded being the socially-acceptable one whenever they had to deal with assholes, but whenever Dean was out with Sam, he let Sam take care of smoothing ruffled feathers. What would Sam say here? "Thanks for your… kind… assistance." There, that was polite. "You'll have to forgive my partner, someone pissed in his cereal this morning," he added.

"You should keep your dick out of his cereal, mister," she huffed.

Well, really, that was going too far. Dean had a fully loaded firearm in a shoulder harness in plain sight. He hitched his shoulders as he walked by her and looked pointedly at the exposed radiator along Joel's back wall. It looked damn old, and rusty. "Nice pipes," he said over his shoulder, and followed Cas down the stairs.

Cas was waiting on the landing outside the second floor apartment.

"I apologize for my rudeness," he said stiffly.

"She deserved it. Look, Cas, you don't have to–"

Cas raised his hand and knocked on Sherri's door. A dog started yapping from inside the apartment. Cas moved to knock again, but Dean caught his arm.

"Stop it," he hissed. "And forget this dumb idea about going to a fucking hotel. You saved my life yesterday. That trumps… whatever. We're staying at Bobby's."

"I do not want your pity, Dean!" Cas lashed out, eyes flashing.

"Good, 'cause you don't have it!" Dean shot back. Cas was right in his face, he could smell the other man's toothpaste (the same as his) and aftershave (from his dad's bottle that'd been sitting in Bobby's spare bathroom since John Winchester died, and why did it still smell good, didn't those things expire?). Dean's thoughts were babbling at him, distracting him. He was fighting with Cas; he needed his wits about him. But Cas was all sharp angles when he was angry, the only softness present in the downturn of his mouth, the bow of his lips.

Dean took the next step, lips parting.

The door opened, and Dean sprang back from Cas.

"Sorry it took me so long; it takes forever for me to get Robot to calm down." A pretty strawberry-blonde, presumably Sherri, stood in the doorway holding a Chihuahua. Her smile faltered as she looked from Dean to Cas and back again. Dean could all-too-easily imagine what she was thinking. "Um. Did you knock on my door?"

"Guilty as charged." Dean whipped out his badge and a charming smile. "Detective Dean Winchester, this is my partner, Castiel James, and we were hoping you could tell us a few things about your deceased neighbor. Joel, from upstairs. Was Robot his dog?"

Dean got it all out in a rush, hoping she wouldn't think to ask where he was a detective, as he had no jurisdiction in the District, or to see Cas's badge, as it was better if no record existed of an AWOL Homeland Security Agent out investigating a case. He needn't have worried. The charming smile did its job.

"Ye-essss," she breathed out, smiling up at Dean a little starry-eyed. Robot let out a yelp, and Cas cleared his throat.

"May we come in?" At least his tone was a couple degrees warmer than it'd been with the landlady. A December day instead of a January day.

"Yes, sorry, I should have asked you in already." She held the door open wide, but not so wide she didn't brush up against Dean as he followed Cas inside. "Please pardon the mess. I just got home from my shift."

Dean glanced at her skirt – it had some kind of name in women's fashion, but to him it was a generic business skirt – and her blouse – buttons done up to acceptable level, one higher than he would have preferred. High-heeled shoes were lying on their sides by the door. _White-collar job with shifts that end by 3:00._ She was either a librarian, a bank teller, or a call-girl for a very specific clientele. He took a chance.

"Are you a bank teller, ma'am?" he asked.

She looked floored. Some people were really impressed by that trick.

"Are you a _psychic_ detective?" she asked. "I work at the Federal Credit Union!"

"You don't say!" He could practically hear Cas rolling his eyes from where he stood by the couch.

"Were you Joel's banker as well as his neighbor, Ms…?" Cas asked, cutting to the chase as usual.

Sherri's smile faltered a bit and she bent to set Robot on the floor, her hair falling over her eyes. Robot went tearing off into a back room. "Sherri," she said. "My name's Sherri. And yes, Joel was a member of the FCU. He worked in the Capitol, you know."

"That sounds impressive," Dean said.

She smiled at him again, a sad little smile, as she sat on the couch, pulling her legs up beneath her. Dean took it as an invite and sat in the opposite corner, draping one arm over the back of the couch. Cas, of course, stayed standing ramrod straight. Dean felt a flicker of annoyance at his dour expression. He hoped Cas's presence wouldn't prevent Sherri from spilling her guts. It was almost as bad as questioning witnesses with Rufus's sour mug hanging over his shoulder.

"Joel was a janitor there," she said. "Not glamorous, but still kind of cool. He had keys to the tunnels beneath the buildings. The big ones are all supposed to be connected underground, in case of attacks and stuff. Joel showed me the ones for the Capitol."

"Very cool," Dean agreed, trying to keep his voice casual. He could feel excitement roiling off of Cas, but the other man seemed to have finally picked up on the vibe in the room and let Dean ask the questions. "You could go from the Capitol to the White House without having to deal with tourists. Sounds good to me."

"Yeah. Though Joel didn't have keys to the interconnecting tunnels. You know, for security."

"Right. Security." That was a minor relief, though once Lilith's people got underground, he doubted they'd really let the need for another set of keys stop them. "So Joel sounds pretty friendly," he said, changing tracks. "Was it shocking for you, what he did?"

"Yeah!" Sherri looked down at her hands. "I mean, okay, he was a loner, and he didn't have family around, at least that I knew of, but he had his hobbies, and Robot. I don't know why he would kill himself!"

Dean exchanged a look with Cas.

"He didn't mention maybe meeting anyone new to you, by any chance? Did his behavior change at all?"

Sherri looked back up, startled. "Wait, why? Are you thinking… he might not have committed suicide?" Her voice rose to a squeak at the end.

"We have no evidence to suggest he was murdered," Dean assured her. Her face grew even whiter. Dammit, he'd been doing so well.

"Sherri," Cas interrupted, and she started at the whip-crack of his voice. "Did he seem odd to you in the week leading up to his death, or not?"

"Yes, sir," she answered quickly. "He was a little… on edge. But if anything weird was going on with him, he would have told his friend, Ron. Ron was his best friend, the only one I ever saw come here. Ron would know."

_Fuck a duck._

Dean leaned forward and placed his hand on her knee. Sherri watched him with big doe eyes, her lips parting. She really was quite attractive. Dean could imagine her slipping him her number, could imagine calling her in a week or so, could imagine taking her out for a couple of beers, could imagine undoing the buttons on her blouse, could imagine nibbling her lower lip… feeling rough stubble against his cheek as a strong hand gripped his cock and blazing blue eyes stared into his own. Oh, Hell, no.

He hadn't said anything, and the moment was quickly becoming awkward, Sherri growing confused, Dean flustered and Cas annoyed.

"Thanks, Sherri," he mumbled finally, and patted her knee. Like a damn grandfather. Jesus, he didn't have a leg to stand on with accusing Cas of being socially inept. He was saved from further humiliation by Robot running back into the room, a squeaky, fuzzy bone in his mouth. He stopped in front of the couch, and, firmly gripping one end in his sharp little teeth, started banging the opposite end on the floor. He was so small his body jumped back a bit with each pounding he gave the bone. The strangest noise echoed around the living room. Dean's eyes opened in wonder. Cas was laughing.

Cas looked about ten years younger when he laughed, crinkles around his eyes and flashing teeth, genuine amusement lighting his eyes. Dean's hands shook with the desire to touch that mouth, feel the muscles in Cas's stomach clench and release with each laugh. It was fucking scary.

Dean pulled a card out of his wallet instead, and handed it over to Sherri. "Anything else occurs to you, please give me a call." He stood up and looked away from the disappointment in her eyes, gaze landing on Cas again. Cas had reached down and was playing tug-o-war with Robot. Dean's stomach gave a lurch. Most likely from indigestion.

It was high time to leave this building.

"Take care of Robot," Cas commanded Sherri as they left. Dean had to put a hand in the small of his back to propel him out the door. He left it there as they walked down the stairs and back out to the road. It felt good to be so possessive, to be allowed to be possessive. Damn, he was so screwed. He finally dropped his hand when they reached the Impala. Cas turned into his personal space.

"I'll go back to Bobby's," he said.

***

He made Cas take some painkillers and a nap when they made it back to the farmhouse. He looked through his notes and drew several diagrams and charts, then squinted at them. He may as well have been finger-painting. He had separate branches for Crowley & Brady and Alistair & Company under Lilith. Homeland Security was a knot beside them, with Cas and Gabriel as their own off-shoot from the dick actions of their colleagues. Then there was Ronald Reznick, his tape and his ties to Joel, who was in turn tied to Congress. Congress, who Cas and Uriel were supposed to be protecting. And somehow, this was connected to Lilith's businesses and possibly another death in Becky's co-worker, Nancy. Lilith did seem to be the sun the rest of them were revolving around.

But how to follow all the dotted lines and connect-the-dots? He picked up his phone.

"Sammy? You got plans for tonight?"

"My plans consist of _not_ breaking into abandoned buildings with you, Dean."

Dean grinned into his phone. "Good, then you can totally come to Bobby's! You did an estate planning course in law school, right?"

"What? Yeah a few years ago. Why? Dean, is something wrong with Bobby?!" Sam sounded panicked. _Whoops._

"Calm down, Samantha, he's strong as an ox. I just need your help with some finances is all. And you can see Bobby for yourself. You'll come?"

"Dean, jeez, one of these days you're going to give me a heart attack, I swear. Yeah, I'll come, if only to punch you in the face."

"Perfect. See you soon, princess."

He hung up before Sam could get the final word in edgewise and called Henriksen to touch base.

"What the hell is going on, Winchester?"

Dean chewed his lip. How to say that they _might_ be dealing with a potential attack on Congress, to be carried out through their water supply, by a group of thugs working for a madam/drug dealer/terrorist, and said group had infiltrated Homeland Security so they didn't know who to trust? Oh, and also, he was falling hard for a male DHS Agent. How were tricks at the station?

"Well. I think I'll have a clearer idea after tonight. You drink bottled water, right?"

Henriksen paused for a long moment. "I don't really want to know what that was about, do I? Never mind, just shut up for now, that other prick from DHS – Raphael something-or-other – was snooping around here earlier. I want us steering clear of any pissing contests in DHS, you hear me? You keep doing your job. I'll contact you tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, sir."

Fuck, Raphael Finnerman was poking around the station. Though Dean would pay good money to see him try to get Gordon to jump through hoops for him.

Ash showed up soon after and enlisted Dean's help to carry in "some shit." "Some shit" turned out to be a couple of laptops, a couple external hard drives, and a few machines Dean wasn't quite sure did what. Sam came in while Ash was running wires, and they kicked Dean out of the room by virtue of his techno-aversion.

"Geek Squad give you the cold shoulder?" Bobby asked when he wandered into the kitchen.

"Yeah. Dweebs." He glanced at the counter. Bobby was forming hamburger patties. He had quite a pile going, next to a small box of frozen veggie patties for Sam. "You need anything?"

"Start the fire, then you can go wake Sleeping Beauty."

"You calling me a prince, Bobby?"

Bobby snorted. "Not likely. More like a caveman. Get outta here, idjit."

Dean threw a grin at him over his shoulder and clomped out to the porch to build up the fire in the grill. Now this was manly work, not like setting up computers. He could hear Sam and Ash arguing about power strips as he made his way up the stairs to check on Cas.

Cas was still asleep. He must have been more exhausted than he'd let on, and Dean kicked himself for letting him come with him all day instead of resting. Dean closed the bedroom door behind him, and Cas jolted awake, dark eyelashes fluttering open as he struggled to sit up.

"It's just me, Cas!" Dean assured him, taking a step forward. The blanket slid off Cas's shoulders as he sat fully upright, and Dean stared.

Cas had unwound the bandages and the bruises were more vividly colored today compared to yesterday.

"Shit, Cas," he breathed, sitting on the bed and stretching out a hand. Uriel deserved a lot worse than he'd got, and Dean was going to personally wipe out Lilith's goons. Cas shied back from his touch, and Dean went cold. He'd been the one pushing Cas away earlier. Of course Cas would think Dean was just pitying him now. He swallowed roughly.

"I'm not pitying you, Cas, Jesus."

"Then what do you want?"

"I – I don't know, man. I want lots of things." He did. Some things he was proud of wanting, and some things he was scared shitless of desiring. "I want to figure out what's going on with this shit case and stop the attack. I want to find out who's responsible and destroy them."

Cas looked at him calmly. "Those are all very noble things, Dean." His lips glistened slightly in the late afternoon light coming through the blinds. Dean's hand was shaking as he brought it up to cup Cas's jaw. If Cas hadn't sighed and leaned into the touch, Dean didn't know what would have happened. Would they have sat there, just barely touching, until the sun went down?

But Cas did lean into the touch, and Dean shifted closer, and Cas kissed him. It was tender and unhurried, unlike anything that had been between them before. Dean's lips parted and Cas's tongue darted in, gently probing.

The screen door slammed, the distant sound breaking the spell.

Dean leaned his forehead against Cas's as he caught his breath. "I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed.

"Then don't do anything," Cas said.

"What?"

Cas pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, then softly pushed Dean's hand away from his neck and stood up. "We'll stop the attack. We'll destroy those responsible. And then you'll figure out what you want."

Dean held his gaze and nodded slowly.

***

Rufus pulled into Singer's Salvage Yard an hour later.

"Honey, I'm home!" he yelled as he stomped up the porch steps. Dean greeted him at the door.

"Get in here, you graceless pig, soup's up." He made a grab for the thick folder clutched in Rufus's left hand, but the other man pulled it tight to his chest. "Come on, share."

"This is post-dinner reading, kid," Rufus said, and refused to relinquish his prize. Dean shrugged his shoulders irritably. The good thing about inheriting all of his father's friends was the loyalty factor. The bad thing was they were his _father's_ friends, and tended to treat him as a child. Bobby was a special exception, and Dean loved him all the more because of it.

Rufus followed him into the kitchen and stopped abruptly. "It's a bit crowded in here."

"We're all putting aside our anti-social tendencies for the evening, old man." Dean gestured at the three men sitting around the kitchen table. "And you already know Sam, you've known him since he was in diapers." Sam shot him a look, no doubt concerned for his dignity. Dean grinned back. "And Ash you know, you met him at that thing at Pamela's house, remember?"

"Oh, shit, was that you?" Ash tipped back in his chair, squinting up at Rufus and ignoring Dean's gesture to shut the fuck up. "Yeah, okay, you're the old black man that–"

"And over here is Castiel James, of Homeland Security," Dean interrupted, laying a hand on Cas's shoulder, before Rufus's eyebrows could climb any higher. "Cas, Rufus here is my partner."

Cas rose slowly to his feet and held out his hand. "It must be very difficult working with Dean. I admire your tenacity."

Rufus stared at him a moment before snorting and shaking his hand. "I was expecting you to have breasts."

_How is this so fucking obvious to everyone else?_ Dean could feel the heat in his cheeks, and Cas was opening his mouth, probably to say that, technically, all men had breasts.

"Diplomatic as ever, Rufus," Bobby said, stumping into the kitchen with a platter of burgers and shoving it into the middle of the table. "Add your own fixings, this ain't Red Robin."

Dean let out a sigh of relief and strategically maneuvered around the table until Rufus was sitting in between Sam and Bobby. Ash was thankfully distracted by a piece of cheese and would hopefully forget the dumbass thing he was going to say to Rufus. Cas's knee accidentally bumped against his own under the table. Dean shot him a quick look, but Cas was king of the poker face.

Sam carried the dinner conversation, for which Dean was grateful. He was acutely aware of Rufus's eyes on him and Cas, and tried to ignore Cas in favor of Ash, sitting on his left. That was an exercise in futility, though, as Ash eating a burger was one of the Top Ten Grossest Things – ever. Dean finally had to turn his back on the sight, just in time to catch Cas's expression as he bit into his own burger. The rapturous expression on his face made Dean's mouth go dry.

Dinner ended when Ash let a spectacular burp and everyone else lost their appetites. Bobby enlisted Sam's help in cleaning up, Ash was banished to the yard to work out his issues, and Dean, Cas and Rufus withdrew to the study to dig into the file Rufus had put together on Tyson Brady.

Rufus sat at Bobby's desk and thumbed the file open. "One thing," he said, leaning over the papers and blocking them from sight. He glanced up at Dean and Cas. "What the hell is up with Homeland Security, huh?"

"You wanna be more specific, old man?" Dean asked, dragging over his usual chair and straddling it. Cas stood, arms crossed, frowning down at Rufus. This might not go as smoothly as Dean had hoped.

"Just this: when we met Agent James here, he had himself a partner. Now his partner's dead, some joker from his office pissed Gordon off, another DHS agent bought the farm, and today we got Agent Happy Sunshine Himself." Rufus jutted his chin out at Cas. "Who the hell is Raphael Finnerman and why the hell did you piss in his porridge? He's got nothing good to say about you, kid."

_Porridge, not cereal. Huh._

"Agent Finnerman is attempting to lay his crimes at my feet," Cas answered, eyes narrowed. "I assure you, I am no traitor."

"Well, Dean?" Rufus barked. "You trust him?"

"Yeah," Dean answered immediately. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I trust him. Now how about you share the Brady file?"

Rufus gave him a 'We Are Not Amused, Young Man' look, but sat back in the desk chair, revealing the contents of the file. Both Dean and Cas leaned in, heads nearly touching.

`Tyson Brady, age 29. Born in Pasadena, California, parents now deceased. Started online pet medicinal company in 2004 with college roommate, now deceased. Took over Niveus Pharmaceutical in 2008. Implicated, but never charged, in arson for fire that destroyed ex-girlfriend's apartment. Ex-girlfriend now deceased.`

Dean let out a low whistle.

"Though I agree that these facts reinforce our perception of Brady as a 'bad' man, I see nothing here that links him or Niveus to Lilith," Cas said. "What happens on the next page?"

"Tyson Brady meets Meg Masters, aka Meg Drac," Rufus answered.

Dean froze. Meg. Shit.

"Meg Drac was one of those ladies you all were keeping from us, wasn't she?" Rufus asked Cas, but Dean answered.

"I killed her, Rufus," he blurted out. "She was going after Cas, and I grabbed her, and she fell and didn't get up."

He could still see her face, her insolent smirk, her heavy lidded eyes. In his mind's eye, she murdered Ronald Reznick again then turned to face him, giving him a jaunty wave. Cas laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"Meg Drac was a murderer," he said. "And I would be dead if not for your actions."

Dean groped for Cas's hand on his shoulder and gave it a brief answering squeeze. "Thanks, Cas," he mumbled. Rufus was watching them, Dean knew, and he dropped his hand back down to the back of the chair. Cas didn't move his hand, though, and Dean surprised himself by not being embarrassed.

"So were they business partners, or something more?" he asked, steering the conversation back towards safer waters.

"Bit of both, I'd say," Rufus answered. "Not that anyone here'd have any experience with that."

_Fuck, now I'll have to tell him to fuck off._

"Fuck off," Cas shot back. Dean choked back a laugh.

Rufus's eyebrows knitted together, and Dean half-expected him to leap out of his chair and across the desk to close his fist around Cas's throat. Then he started laughing.

"Fair enough," he said, shoulders shaking. "Oh, Lord, there's two of them now. Damn!"

It was disconcerting watching Cas and Rufus work together after that. Their prickly personalities seemed to mesh. Which was great, Dean knew it was great, not to mention lucky for him, but he felt almost like the third wheel. Cas would ask a question, Rufus would posit a theory, and then the two of them would look through the file together for the answer.

And then they gave Dean a marker to write their timelines and connections on the wipeboard Bobby hauled into the study. Ash and Sam joined them, balancing laptops on their knees, and Dean found himself thrust into the role of official unofficial secretary. Soon the whiteboard was filled with circles and arrows, dates and dollar amounts, and way too many names. Dean knew he'd lost his train of thought when he found himself doodling 'Get the Led out' in a corner of the board.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Ash cried. "We're looking at this all wrong. We need to make this simpler. And what's the simplest, truest thing of all?"

"Killing," Rufus answered. Sam looked at him askance.

"Family," Dean answered.

"No, no, no. Sex." Ash heaved a great sigh. "Are you men, or are you turnips? Lilith's a madam. She was having an affair with Crowley–"

"We don't know that," Dean interrupted. Seriously, sex? This was about way more than sex. Sex was quick and easy and didn't mean anything. At least, that was how it had been two days ago. Dean's thoughts on the matter had gotten a bit obscured since the night before.

Ash shot him a wounded look. "Work with me here, Deanarino. She's having an affair with Crowley, but she's also sleeping with… a Senator or Houseman, right, and Crowley gets jealous. So he comes up with a plan to poison Congress to bump off his rival! Only Lilith finds out about it, okay, and she sends her three best fighters to take Crowley out – BAM! – and that's an end to the alleged terrorist attack."

Everyone else stared at him for a moment.

"By 'Houseman' do you mean 'Congressperson'?" Sam asked finally.

"Your theory stinks," Rufus said bluntly. "What about all the different crime families Lilith is uniting? What about her being a drug dealer? What about all these payoffs – who are they for? For what? Who's paying them?"

"Okay, okay! Sheesh. You know something, you are one unpleasant old man."

Dean tuned them out as Ash and Rufus bickered in the background, looking instead at the transactions he'd scribbled on the whiteboard. Ruby had said to follow the money trail, after all. Not that he trusted her, but maybe there was something there. Payments from Crowley to Brady, and Crowley was a cautious bastard…

"Be quiet." Cas's voice cut across Ash's lazy drawl and Rufus's barking replies. "Dean has something to say."

Dean's eyes snapped back to Cas, surprised. So he had something to say, did he? Well maybe he did.

"I was thinking about Crowley," he said slowly. "He was giving Brady money for the drugs. Here." He pointed to three different amounts. "They all came from the same account, which was different from the one he used to pay Alistair, and the one for revenues. He kept everything separate. I don't even know what some of this shit was for."

"I may have a better idea of that now," Sam spoke up. "Those files from the… motivational speaker's office? Blackmail."

"What kind of blackmail?" Dean asked.

"Um. Well, she _is_ a madam."

"You've been sitting here all night looking at porn? Sam!" Dean protested. "I called you here to look at financial shit. You were supposed to leave the porn for me."

"Trust me, Dean, the dudes she's blackmailing are old and saggy. I did you a favor."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Say no more." He looked back at the board. On the couch, Ash was gleefully switching external hard drives with Sam. _Pervert._ "So she hid blackmail material at Becky's office, and Crowley hid the money in these accounts," he indicated a series of numbers. He had no idea if they were the right numbers, but that wasn't the point, the point was, "which are different from over here," another string of numbers, "which had money from her legit businesses, and so on and so forth."

Dean chewed his lower lip for a moment. Beside him, Cas frowned at the board. "That is fairly standard practice for money launderers, Dean. The more it is spread around, the harder it is to trace back to its source. But you believe he did this for another reason besides security, do you not?"

"Oh, no, it's security all right. Just not Lilith's security." Dean turned to face Cas. "Crowley made himself fucking irreplaceable. He was buying his own damn security."

Cas frowned. "Crowley was murdered."

Dean brushed that aside with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, so it didn't work for him."

"And Crowley did not command the loyalty of Lilith's… family. He did not unite Serbians and Croatians–"

"Yeah, Cas, I get that!" Did he have to be so argumentative all the time? It was annoying. "I still think Crowley had a failsafe or _something_ related to the money!"

"He did," Sam said quietly.

"What?" Dean looked over at his brother, his heart thumping.

Sam looked up from the laptop. "Those three transactions? All had to be made in person at the bank. There was one more scheduled for today, but it has no info. And it doesn't because Crowley wasn't there to make it."

***

The water supply hadn't been poisoned yet. Crowley had paid Brady for manufacture and transport, Alistair for security, but the final payment, the delivery, had not been paid. Ash and Sam had dug through their accounts and found a code name for the delivery man – Pestilence, how very fitting – which had led to a heated debate as to his real name. Personally, Dean felt that Lilith wouldn't have left something that important up to a mere delivery man. Ash was sure it had to be someone at Homeland Security. Sam wondered if it was someone who'd already been killed in the whole fiasco. Cas put forth the theory that it was a PG County cop, perhaps one Crowley, who had dealt exclusively out of PG County, had been paying off to look the other way on his dealings. Rufus had decided he wasn't quite as buddy-buddy with Cas after that.

The idea disturbed Dean, but not as much as it would have a week ago. Corruption was something all police departments had to contend with; PG County was no different. They'd even had a large Internal Affairs sting a year ago, resulting in several arrests and then a few promotions for promising officers. Still, until he'd stood in the Fort Totten Metro Station with a pay phone up to his ear, he was willing to give all his fellow cops not his trust, but at least the benefit of the doubt. No longer. Cas had changed that.

The thought haunted him. How easily Cas had wormed his way into Dean's thoughts and influenced his actions. No one had done that… well, ever. The family Dean had made for himself had always been his – his little brother, his aunt and cousin, and then Bobby, Rufus and Missouri, his father's friends. But now Dean was letting Cas inside, a man he'd known less than a week. His skin crawled with the knowledge of the power he was giving Cas.

Dean sighed up at the ceiling in his childhood room. The floor was damn hard. He had no idea what lunacy had caused him to offer Cas the bed. Well, no, he knew exactly what it was. He was not going to force a man with Cas's injuries to sleep on a wooden floor. At least he could use the uncomfortableness of his position to help him take his mind off how much he wanted to reach across the space between them and rub himself against Cas's body, thrust his tongue into Cas's mouth, feel Cas's arms around him – the wooden floor was no longer working.

"Dean?" Cas was a terrible whisperer.

"Sh. What?" Dean whispered back, displaying proper technique when one's little brother was just down the hall, not to mention one's partner across the hall and then the two other men somewhere downstairs.

"You can have this bed. I do not believe Ash was planning to sleep; I can rest on the couch downstairs." His voice was a modicum lower.

"Dude, no, it's fine. Go back to sleep."

"I was not asleep. I find it difficult to sleep with you in such close proximity," Cas confessed. "I find it aggravating," he continued, his voice more of a growl.

Dean sat up and peered through the murky darkness at Cas on the bed.

"This was a bad idea," he said finally. "I can't sleep in the same room as you." He gathered up his blankets and thin pillow and marched over to the closet.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked, sitting up.

"I'm going out to the shed to sleep. Lie back down," he answered, finding the whorl and pressing against the back of the closet.

"You are an impossible creature, Dean Winchester."

"Don't I know it," Dean muttered. He didn't look back.

It'd been years since he'd made the trek through the secret passage, but the Captain America flashlight still hung from the hook on the wall. Bobby must have kept the batteries fresh. Dean flicked it on and picked his way as quietly as possible down the stairs. He had to bend over to avoid hitting his head on the dirt ceiling of the passage.

The shed was cold, but he was able to make a decent nest out of some bales of hay. "Much better than the floor," he muttered to himself as straw poked him in the back.

He had to do something about Cas. He wasn't freaking about the sex-with-a-man aspect. Well, not really, especially after their conversation about Jimmy. It was the fact they'd had that conversation at all. He was telling Cas _things_. People who opened themselves up like that shouldn't be surprised when others raided them and left. He dealt with assholes and scumbags and betrayers every damn day. It was stupid how quickly and totally he was trusting Cas. Very stupid. His eyelids closed of their own accord.

It didn't feel like a dream, but he was back up in his room, so it must have been. And he was in his bed, flat on his back, and sweet Jesus, he was letting Cas fuck him. The whole bed was shaking fit to wake the dead, but it was nothing compared to Cas's voice. "Let me in, you fuckwad!" he rasped, pistoning his hips and shoving in so hard, Dean could feel a jolt all the way up his spine to his brain and his body slid across the bed, which was now approximately the size of Bobby's kitchen. "I'm the one who says 'fuckwad,'" he slurred lazily. "You _are_ in, fuckwad. Fuck me harder."

Cas seized his shoulders and Dean crossed his ankles around Cas's lower back, and then Cas was coming, fucking him hard through the mattress until it started to rip apart, and Dean stared up at Cas's Big-O face, struck by the collision of pleasure and pain written across his forehead and in the tone of his voice as he panted, "Impossible creature, let me in."

Dean woke with a start, flushed and hard and with a mouth as dry as the desert.

"Dammit," he croaked, shoving his hand into his boxers and imagining it was Cas's mouth.

He awoke again about six hours later to the door creaking open. He blinked groggily. His hand was still down his pants and he had no weapon except for the flashlight. _Fuck_. He hurriedly drew his hand out and wiped it off on some straw.

"Dean? You in here?" Sam called softly. His feet appeared in Dean's vision, polished leather of his dress shoes crunching the dry straw. "The shed? Really?"

"I love the shed," Dean mumbled. "What's your excuse?"

Sam rolled his eyes and crouched down. "I was going to offer you first dibs on the shower, but you weren't in your room. Just Castiel, looking like death warmed over. You guys get in a fight?"

Dean grunted noncommittally. Sam was giving him That Look again, Sam's patented 'I feel your pain' wide eyes of empathy. It was way too early for that shit. Sam sighed and stood up.

"I have to leave if I'm to make it to the office on time. Will you call me if you want to talk about it?"

"Jesus, Sammy, he's not some girl I'm making calf eyes at!" Dean exploded.

"I know he's not a girl," Sam said calmly.

"You – what the hell do you mean by that?" Dean glared up at his brother. He should stand up, Sam already had an unfair height advantage without Dean sitting on the floor, but if he stood the remains of his dream might be evident on his pajama bottoms.

"Dean, it's just – it'd be okay. If you, you know." He made a weird gesture, that didn't look anything like sexual congress, but from the red blush staining his cheeks, it was quite obvious what he meant.

"Fuck, Sam." Dean was suddenly more tired than before he'd slept. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "I like him," he said.

"Great, I'll be sure to go buy us some promise rings now. Get them engraved with 'Sam approves.'" Dean snorted, and stood up, drawing his blanket around him. "Whatever. I'm going back in. You better have left me some hot water."

"Nope, all gone," Sam replied, a smile beginning in the corners of his mouth. "I ate all the eggs, too."

"You're an ass," Dean shot back, leading the way out of the shed. _Weak, Winchester, weak._

"You have straw in your hair, big brother."

Sam's chuckle followed him into the house.

Dean managed to avoid running into Cas for the next half hour, while he showered, dressed and wolfed down cereal instead of eggs, damn Sam. He was out on the porch, watching Sam's taillights disappear in the distance, when he felt a presence on his right and knew it was Cas.

"I enjoy your brother's company," Cas said.

Dean grunted in response.

"Did you enjoy sleeping in the shed last night?" There wasn't even a hint of reproach in Cas's voice. That almost made it worse.

"Cas–"

"You said when this was over, then you'd figure it out," Cas spoke over him. "I should respect that."

Dean leaned into his presence, drawn like a moth to a flame. Cas was in his personal space again, so close he could feel his breath on his cheek, but he was getting used to it now. It felt almost comfortable. Dean's lips parted. When it came to Cas, he had zero willpower, it seemed.

A car pulled in at the end of the long drive, shattering the moment. Cas turned to chart its progress with him, his hand going to his hip and the holstered gun there.

"Easy," Dean murmured. "That's Pamela's car. She's a friend."

A friend he'd slept with a time or two, to be precise. She was one of Bobby's friends, sans benefits or at least Dean hoped so. Bobby joined them on the porch as Pamela pulled up in front of the porch.

"Oh, good. Pamela's here," he said.

"You're a master of the obvious, Bobby. What's she doing here?" Dean asked out of the corner of his mouth. Pamela stepped out of her car and slammed the door. She threw a wink over her shoulder as she bent to get something out of the back seat. The woman had a magnificent ass. Cas's eyes narrowed, and Dean noted that he'd never taken his hand off his gun. Awesome.

"Pamela's a healer, and Castiel here could use someone giving his ribs a check-up," Bobby answered. Dean threw him a startled look. Yeah, Pamela was a healer, but New Age type stuff. This was not going to go well. Pamela straightened up and slammed her rear door, too, and slung a brightly colored cloth bag over one shoulder.

"Morning, Dean!" she called. "Looks like you've got yourself another Grumpy with you."

Cas's eyebrows shot up.

"Relax, that's just what she calls Sam," Dean said quietly to him. "Don't worry, Pamela," he said as she joined them on the porch. "This is his happy face. He's smiling on the inside."

Cas shot him A Look as Pamela laughed.

"I'll have to call you Little Grumpy. Unless you'd be offering a lady a name?" She held out her hand to Cas and gave him a coquette-ish flutter of her eyelashes.

"Agent Castiel James, Homeland Security." His handshake was as brusque as his intro. "What are you a lady of?" Dean gave an inward wince.

"The night, Agent James," Pamela laughed. "And all its mysteries."

"I have no need of a lady of the night."

Okay, this was getting weird, and from the look on Bobby's face, he agreed with Dean. It was time to put the kibosh on this conversation.

"Yeah, so Pamela here is a healer," Dean conveniently left out the part about her also being a psychic, "so let's take this inside and start healing." He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. Cas and Pamela both gave him odd looks. Bobby snorted and led the way inside, his cane thumping.

Pamela made Cas sit at the kitchen table and take his shirt off. Dean leaned against the sink and watched. From the living room, he could hear Bobby prodding Ash off the couch, using his cane.

Cas's bruises still made Dean flinch, but Cas's face remained expressionless as Pamela gently touched his chest. Cas was so leanly muscled, completely misleading considering his strength. Dean watched her hands touching his skin and fought back a wave of jealousy. Cas wasn't even looking at Pamela, Dean realized. He was staring at Dean, and continued while Pamela reached into her bag and pulled out a salve that she smeared over his bruises. Dean swallowed hard.

"Well!" Pamela crossed over to the sink and bumped him away with her hip. "Normally, I would say you should really take a day of bedrest, Grumpy, but from the looks you two are exchanging, I have a feeling your bedrest would be more athletic than most people running around."

Dean fought the blush with every fiber of his being and wrenched his gaze from Cas to glare at Pamela. She smirked right back at him.

"Bisexuality is the natural state of being, Dean. It's time you explored yours."

"He already has," Cas informed her.

"We're not talking about this," Dean said firmly. "Back to Cas's ribs." He ignored the gleeful look on Pamela's face and spoke to a spot over her left shoulder. "You think he should stay here today?"

"Dean," she sighed. "I think he would kill me if I said yes."

"He's a stubborn bastard," Dean acknowledged.

"I am sitting right here," Cas complained. "And I am going with you, Dean."

Dean huffed a breath. It'd be easier going with Cas, that was sure. Rufus was planning to do a little poking around at the precinct, see if he could tie anyone to Crowley. Dean wanted to look into the bowels of Congress itself, and to do that, he'd need Gabriel. Cas would be a help there.

Dean's phone rang, and he glanced down, welcoming the distraction. _Chuck_.

"Dean!" Chuck greeted him a little breathlessly when he accepted the call.

"Two-timer," Dean replied.

"Er. Yeah, are you not going to let that go…?"

Dean stayed silent, letting him suffer. Chuck cleared his throat.

"That makes this call a little awkward 'cause I kind of need a favor."

"Here, talk to Cas. You've known him your whole life." Dean thrust the phone in Cas's face. He was maybe taking this a little too far, but Chuck had always been a pushover and Dean had always liked pushing him.

"How is Cas really?" he asked Pamela in a low voice, keeping an eye on Cas at the table, frowning into Dean's phone.

Pamela shrugged. " _I_ wouldn't want to go running around like that," she said, "but then I've never been a fan of the Martyr Complex. You see me putting my life on the line, you tell me to go running the other way, got it?"

He looked down at her. He sincerely doubted Pamela had ever run from a fight in her entire life. It just wasn't in her nature. "Sure," he said. "I'd tell you."

She smiled up at him. "The bruises look bad, and his muscles are sore, but he should be fine, as long as he doesn't go diving in front of moving vehicles or anything." His eyes wandered back to Cas's bare chest as she spoke, and he nodded absently to her advice. "Then you can get back to drooling over that lean, taut chest of his."

_Busted._ "Pamela–" he started, attempting to bluff his way out.

"Dean!" The kitchen chair scraped loudly across the linoleum as Cas quickly pushed back from the table. "We have to go _now_. One of Raphael's people has tracked Chuck to his mother's house in Laurel. We must get him back."  


Chapter VIII  
He believed in a God that could raise the dead

"So why's Chuck at his mom's?" Dean asked, slowing for EZPass to charge him a ridiculous amount for such a short distance but, well, Raphael.

"Becky got cross with him," Cas answered from the passenger seat. He was absorbed with setting up the disposable cell phone Bobby had insisted they take with them. It was a good idea, Dean had to admit, especially as he had Big Plans to force Cas to stay in the car while he checked the house for Chuck.

"Women," Dean muttered under his breath. Cas gave him a look.

"I have found that men are no more reliable in their relationships," he said. "Give me your phone."

"I'm a little busy right now, Cas. You know, with driving." He was probably proving Cas's point, too. His knuckles grew white around the steering wheel. Cas reached over, slipped his hand into Dean's jacket pocket, and drew out the phone. "Don't program any 900 numbers in there, Cas. I call someone for free for that shit."

He grinned across the seat at Cas, but the other man was absorbed in the phones, forehead wrinkled in consternation. Dean had never seen anyone so lousy with technology before in his life. Give Cas a gun or a mystery to solve, and he was your man. Hand him a phone and he was lost.

"You have to unlock it first," he said. "Code's 5-2-8-3." He glanced at Cas's fingers out of the corner of his eye. He had elegant damn fingers, except for the gun calluses. "Okay, now hit 'Contacts.' You're number nine, just delete the old number and put that new one in."

He passed a minivan before risking another glance at Cas. "Cas? You still with me buddy?"

"You had me on speed dial?"

"Yeah, well, Sam says I shouldn't bother with that function, since I don't exactly have a lot of numbers in there, but I like speed dial. It's old school."

He could feel Cas's eyes on his face. "I see," he said finally. "I am rather 'Old School' myself."

"Yeah you are."

Cas's lips drew up in a hint of a smile, then down again as he looked at Dean's phone. "Gabriel still has not called me back."

"When'd you call him?"

"This morning while you were avoiding me." Dean hunched his shoulders as Cas continued on, oblivious. "I wanted to update him on what we thought about the plot against Congress. He has always been unreliable with communication devices, but in our current circumstances, I thought he would answer."

"That'd be too helpful, Cas. We're _never_ that lucky."

"I suppose not."

They pulled up outside a small bungalow a few blocks from Dean's favorite diner about fifteen minutes later. Chuck's mother's house was four houses down on the right. Dean squinted at the driveway. A battered station wagon was sticking out of the single-car garage. If Raphael or his goon was there, they'd hidden their transport on another block. Dean sighed. He should have brought Rufus with him, but someone had to maintain a clean record with Homeland Security. Still, he had a very bad feeling about the empty street.

Dean thrust a finger in Cas's face. "You. Stay in the car. You're supposed to be on bedrest, for fuck's sake."

"I will not stand by and let you take all the risk for my informant," Cas snapped back, mulish expression firmly entrenched on his face.

"My informant too, or did you forget? And you're not going to stand by, you're going to sit." Dean held up his hand to forestall any arguments. God save him from foolishly brave men with an overblown sense of nobility. "You have to have the car ready for our getaway. I'm entrusting you with my baby here, Cas. I don't even let Sam drive her." He ran a loving hand over the steering wheel. Hopefully she'd forgive him for handing the keys to Cas. Cas's expression softened a miniscule amount, but he nodded his head curtly.

"Be very careful, Dean. Raphael is not to be trifled with."

"Yeah, I got that with the whole framing-you-for-bad-shit… shit," Dean grumbled, climbing out of the Impala. Cas slid across the seat and rested his hands on the steering wheel, his face turned to the window. The sight filled Dean with the wild notion that he should lean his head into the car and kiss him good bye. His fingers trembled slightly until the urge passed. Still, he couldn't resist laying a hand on Cas's shoulder and squeezing it before taking off for the bushes on the side of the bungalow.

_Déjà vu all over again._ His gun was a cool, reassuring weight in his hand as he approached at a crouch. The first window revealed an empty interior, probably the living room, as there was a fireplace in one wall, and damn, Dean could see where Chuck had inherited his housekeeping skills. He crept along to the second window and peered into the next room.

A great roaring sounded in his ears and he stumbled over his own feet, his eyes bugging at what could only be an impossible vision. He blinked rapidly and stared some more.

Crowley – alive, whole – stood – standing, not slumped over in death – in the middle of the kitchen. Crowley threw his head back and laughed. Crowley leaned on the kitchen table and stuck his face into the face of the man sitting in a chair there, still laughing. _Fuck, Chuck._

Dean fumbled for his phone and Cas's speed dial.

"I can see you from here, Dean." Cas's voice sounded sharp, worried. "What is the matter?"

"Crowley," Dean spat out. "Bastard is _alive_!"

"What? No, you must be mistaken!"

"Yeah? Look!" Dean snapped a few pictures in quick succession on his phone, then froze. Crowley was walking towards the window.

"Detective Winchester?" he called, his voice muffled by warped glass. "Dear Chuck and I have been awaiting you. Please tell me you brought Agent James with you."

Dean raised his gun and Crowley's arms shot up into the air.

"I assure you, Detective, we are quite alone, excepting your odious little friend at the table. I just want to parley with you. You don't need that thing. You won't get anything out of me if I'm dead, after all."

"You _were_ dead, asswipe." Dean shifted his feet, trying to look past Crowley. He couldn't see anyone else in the house except for Chuck, but that was no guarantee. _Fuck it._ "I'm coming in there. You have a _shitload_ of explaining to do."

He hurried around to the back door. "Did you catch all that, Cas?" he muttered. "You stay put."

"I do not take orders from you, Dean!" Cas's voice was absurdly loud in his ear. He must have been _pissed_.

"It's not an order! It's just…" he fumbled for something to say. "Backup. I need backup, in case anything goes wrong. It works better if you're not right there front and center, you know?"

And he wanted to keep Cas safe, this was so obviously a trap, only he couldn't see how to spring it without walking right into it, but Cas, Cas with his bruised ribs and bottomless eyes and tender mouth, Cas didn't have to walk into it. There was blood on Chuck's forehead. Dean was determined there would be none on Cas's. He burst into the little house without waiting for a response.

Crowley raised his hands. "Easy, cowboy. I'm unarmed."

"How the fuck are you alive? And what the hell happened to you, Chuck? You okay, man?"

"Yeah, hi, um, Detective Winchester." Chuck winced through his greeting and raised a cold compress Dean hadn't noticed from outside up to his forehead.

Dean debated a moment – find out why Chuck was sporting a golf ball-sized lump on his head, or how the dead could rise. "Okay, Crowley," he said decisively, keeping his gun trained on the formerly dead

Crowley arched a brow. "What, we're not waiting for your charming boyfriend?"

"You want to stand around here, waiting? Really?"

"Why not? We have time, now that I've sent the redoubtable Agent Raphael Finnerman off on a wild goose chase." Crowley's eyes gleamed. "That's right, Detective. I saved your little friend here from the cooking pot. I think that earns me one lowered gun."

Dean glanced at Chuck. Chuck grimaced.

"Well, see," he began. "I heard from… reliable sources this morning that this Finnerman dude knew I was connected to Castiel, so I called you guys. I mean, everything I've done, I've done for love of this country!" He gave Dean a pleading look. "But Castiel had said this Raphael–"

"Yes, yes, fascinating. Skip ahead to the part where I saved you," Crowley interrupted him. Chuck shot him a dirty look.

"I'm getting there. It's important to set the scene when you're telling a story." He turned back to Dean, noted the muscle twitching in his jaw, and hurriedly babbled out the rest of his tale. "There was a guy right outside the door, Dean, and I heard his radio – it said I'd been spotted lurking outside a bar in Georgetown, and the guy took off. Crowley said he was the one to call in the tip."

"How'd you get that goose egg on your head, then?" Dean asked, nodding to it. He kept his gun trained on Crowley. His assistance didn't sound very special at all.

"Oh, I, uh, walked into the door. Um. Twice." Chuck gave a sheepish shrug. "What can I say? I'm a klutz."

"There, you see! I pulled his nuts out of the fire, and through his own gross incompetence only, he has an unsightly bruise." Crowley sat in one of the other chairs and rapped his knuckles on the table. "Now if you're not going to call Agent James to join us, how about we get this show on the road, hmmm?"

Dean hesitated. "You sure you're okay, Chuck?"

At Chuck's nod, he reluctantly joined them at the table. From his seat, he could see out the window. There was no sign of Cas, but Dean didn't for a minute trust that the other man had actually stayed in the car.

"To answer your question, Detective – I am alive because I willed myself to be."

Dean met Crowley's eyes. Same smirking mouth, same smug tone, but there was something about his eyes. Alive he might be, but Crowley was also _worried_ – and trying hard to disguise the flop sweat.

"There was a knife in your chest. How 'bout you explain that?"

Crowley waved his hand in the air. "A cheap party trick. No the real magic was in getting out of the house alive."

"You didn't just pay off Uriel." It wasn't Cas. Dean had his trust issues, but Cas had earned more than the bare benefit of the doubt.

"A magician never reveals his secrets. But who said I paid off Uriel at all?" Crowley leaned forward, a predatory glint in his eye. "Dean, Dean, Dean. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, asswipe?"

"Uriel didn't need _money_. He needed to keep up the façade that what he was doing was the right thing. You law enforcement types are all the same. Always looking for fucking assurance." Crowley snorted and sat back in his chair. "Well I patted him on the head and told him what he wanted to hear, and he made his deal with the devil."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who did you offer him?"

"Lilith, naturally."

"That wouldn't have been enough for him."

"Oh, very good, Winchester! You're right, of course. Lilith may be _your_ Big Bad, but Uriel had his eye on a higher prize. Capturing Lilith would certainly help."

Dean quickly ran through the conversation he'd had with Cas yesterday morning. "You gave him Lilith," he said slowly, "and offered to take her place. Pretend to be in his pocket." He waited for Crowley's nod. "So I guess my question to you is this: why'd you stop Lilith's plan? You just biding your time, Crowley?" His finger itched to pull the trigger. Chuck's eyes went from him to Crowley, back and forth like watching a tennis match. It was Crowley's turn to serve.

"Why would I do that? There's living in terror, Dean, and there's _terror_. You think I want a terrorist attack on American soil, handing over all that power to Homeland Security on a fucking silver platter?" Crowley sneered. "Uriel and his goons with the mandate from on high to poke his nose into my business, _everybody's_ business, no thanks, I'll pass."

"Lilith thought it was worth it."

"Lilith's a fool, looking for approval from an absent father. Oh, well done, she's got druglords and pimps breaking bread together. But what good does it do her to unite the criminal underbelly if Uriel's going to kick over all the rocks and expose her?"

"So Lilith thought Uriel would blame the scapegoat she chose." _Absent father figure, hmmm? Did he mean to say that? Should look into that in all my free time._ "But without realizing he was in your pocket, not hers. Why'd she try to kill you, then?"

"She didn't trust me! As well she shouldn't. But she didn't try to kill me." Crowley's lips twitched in a smile.

Dean raised a brow. "Your knifing was staged for their benefit, too?"

"Right in one, Winchester. I knew they were coming – to chat. Alistair chats with his knuckles, they're very talkative. And those girls – no, it was best for me to disappear for a bit."

"So when DHS was interviewing them – they actually _were_ innocent. Of that."

"Ironic, isn't it." Crowley smirked. "Like if it rains on the day you marry Agent James."

"Cute, Crowley." Dean leaned forward. "I just have one more question. Why the hell are you telling me all this?"

"I thought that was obvious." Crowley pointed his finger in Dean's face, and Dean had the near overwhelming urge to bite it off. "You tore up my Uriel-in-the-hole. Now I need a new one. Tag, you and your boyfriend lurking in the bushes outside are it."

"Forget it, asshole. We don't work for you," Dean snapped. He really was going to bite off that finger. He could see Chuck squirming out of the corner of his eye, uncomfortable with confrontation as always. Condensation from the cold compress leaked onto the table.

"It wasn't _precisely_ an offer, kid." Crowley's voice lowered threateningly. "Raphael Finnerman wants to hang Agent James by his balls. Maybe I should work with him, hmmm? I could deliver James's associates," he nodded towards Chuck, who shrank back in his chair, "and the man he's currently fucking."

"Enough with the damn innuendo–"

"That wasn't innuendo. I was blatantly saying it."

"ENOUGH." Dean's chair scraped loudly when he stood up and raised his gun. "I've heard enough from you."

He saw a blurred shape reflected in the water on the table top an instant before Cas was thrown into the room by a couple of nondescript henchmen. He caught himself by reaching for the back of the remaining chair, but Dean could see the effort it cost him. Chuck gasped, Cas groaned and Dean swore under his breath. Crowley sat back in his chair and barked a laugh.

"Well, here we all are! I certainly hope my lackeys weren't too harsh on your ribs, Agent James." Cas just glared at him, and Crowley continued blithely. "As I was just telling your lover here," he waved a hand at Dean, "now really, Dean, put up your gun, I must insist." He didn't wait, however, and Dean still kept the weapon trained on him. "I have a proposal. I give you Lilith. I'll even throw in some juicy evidence you can use against your Agent Finnerman. In exchange, you get something in your eye when you look at me. Understand?"

Dean was the only one with a gun out. He had little doubt that Crowley and his men were also armed. Cas had probably been disarmed, and Chuck… well, he had his cold compress. Dean's eyes flicked to Cas, who gave a miniscule nod, fingers tightening around the back of the chair. They'd had worse odds.

Crowley seemed to figure out his answer a split second before Dean moved. The drug dealer chose defense, throwing himself wide of the bullet Dean'd been aiming at his arm. It hit one of Crowley's cronies instead, even as Cas swung his own chair at the other henchman. It broke with a loud crack on his kneecaps, as Cas still couldn't lift his arms over his head and aim higher. Dean was dimly aware of Chuck yelping in shock and scrambling backwards and then Crowley was up again, gun in hand.

Time froze for just a second when Crowley fired, and then sped up as Cas slammed into Dean, knocking them both to the floor, the bullet lodging itself into the wall. Sirens sounded from outside, and Crowley snarled once before running to the back door. It banged shut behind him.

"You guys have to get out of here!" Chuck said, eyes wide. "The cops'll be here. The other cops, I mean."

Cas was a warm weight across Dean's chest, and he shoved at him gently, despite his growing anger. He'd told Cas to stay in the car, and where was he? Risking his fool life to protect Dean.

"You'll be okay, Chuck?" Dean asked, getting to his feet only to bend over the shot henchman and clunk him over the head with his gun. The man stopped whimpering and passed out. The one Cas had knocked down with his chair had hit his head on the way down and was still out cold. Cas was divesting him of his firearm.

"Yeah, yeah, go on, I'll call you after the cops leave, okay?"

Dean already had his hand on the door knob when Cas yanked him back. "Crowley could be lying in wait."

_Good point._ "Cas, the cops are arriving out front."

Cas nodded. "I go first." He shoved Dean aside and slipped out the back before Dean could even open his mouth to respond.

"Fuck, Cas!" he hissed, a useless retort, and followed.

Crowley wasn't waiting for them, and they ran quickly back to the Impala, flashing lights casting brilliant blue and red against the dark gray of the storm-threatening sky in the rear view as Dean drove away, hands clenched around the steering wheel.

"What part of 'stay in the car' didn't you understand?" Dean asked through his teeth.

"Crowley's presence negated any 'Mother Hen' directives on your part," Cas answered.

Dean stared at him incredulously. "Did you just air quote at me?"

Cas frowned. "We should be focusing on Crowley's return and what it portends."

"Instead of your social ineptitude?" Dean huffed. "Yeah, okay, here goes – Crowley's back. We're fucked. Again. I think that about sums it up."

"No, it does not. Dean, why would he reveal himself to you? What did he hope to gain from it?"

Dean frowned. They were good questions and unfortunately, he didn't think he had the whole picture. "He said he wanted protection," he said slowly, "but that can't be the whole story. If he wanted to deal with someone in DHS, wouldn't he have approached Raphael? Why you?" He left the _and me_ unsaid.

"It's possible he thought Raphael would hold him partially responsible for Uriel's death."

Dean glanced over at Cas. He was getting better at reading him, and Cas was not anywhere near as blasé about discussing his brother's betrayal as he let on.

"Or it's possible," Cas continued, "that he genuinely was not in favor of Lilith's plan to attack Congress, knew that Uriel and Raphael wished to use such an attack to their advantage, and therefore had no desire to approach them."

Dean grunted. That gave Crowley too much credit. "We're not going to figure it out by talking circles around it. We're just going to have to find the fucker again." His eyes swept the side of the road. The leaves of the trees blew upwards, getting ready for a storm. Crowley was not hiding behind any of them, not that Dean actually expected to see him there. "And when we do, try not to jump in front of his gun again, can you manage that?"

A muscle in Cas's jaw twitched. "I know you're going to complain about my actions, Dean, and there's really no point," Cas started.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, it'd be like banging my head against a brick wall." It was a good thing he had such a hard head.

"Back up was best served by moving closer to the house," Cas said stubbornly.

"Shut up. Just… shut up, Cas," Dean said. His knuckles tightened white around the steering wheel.

"You need to stop taking responsibility for my actions," Cas continued in a clipped voice. "Why must I continually remind you of this?"

"That's not the fucking point," Dean hissed. "You could have _died_. You shouldn't risk yourself for me!"

Cas laughed, a hollow thing, and Dean almost swerved the car over the line. "Dean, that's part of the job description. 'Protect and Serve'; I'm sure you are familiar with it."

"Other people. We protect other people, Cas. Innocents."

The clouds that'd been threatening to overflow all day opened with a tear of thunder and rain spackled the windshield. Dean cursed under his breath and turned the wipers on. His cheek twitched, but he refused to look over at Cas, well aware that the other man was staring at him again, like he was a bug under a microscope.

"You… don't think you're worth saving," Cas said. It was a statement, not a question.

Dean glanced in his rearview mirror and pulled the car over to the side of the road. Rain pounded loudly on the roof and windows, a rat-a-tat reminiscent of gunfire, broken only by the slick sweep-sweep of the wiper blades. Cas watched him expectantly, his body tense and on guard. _Defending what? My self-worth?_

"Cas," he started. "I don't know how to talk to you." Cas's eyes narrowed, and Dean plowed on. "I don't know what you want, okay!"

"I thought it was quite obvious what I want. I want _you_."

"Well, that doesn't work for me! Jesus, Cas." He leaned his head against the steering wheel and took a deep breath.

"Everything with you is sexual," Cas muttered under his breath, and Dean flushed. "Yes, I want that aspect of you, but you have made clear your reservations on that matter. I mean I want you. I want you to trust me. I want you to know I am on your side. That our side is the same side. I want you to realize that you are worth the regard I have for you."

Cas's jaw jutted forward and his hands were clasped tightly together.

"And if I let you down?" Dean asked, quiet enough that the rain almost drowned him out.

"Then you ask for my forgiveness and we try again," Cas growled. "You are human. You're not supposed to be perfect."

The wind battered at the car, attempting to fit rain through the cracks. Dean was oblivious to the storm. Cas sat beside him, strong and dependable and… really weird, true, but kind of exactly what he wanted, if he'd take it. He licked his lips and leaned across the seat, pressing them to Cas's closed mouth. He was not expecting Cas to push him away.

"Dean. I did not say those things to get in your pants," he said, eyebrows in an angry vee.

"What if I really want you there?" Dean asked, licking his lips again. "Honestly, Cas, you kind of drive me nuts."

Cas's lips quirked up in a slight smile. "And that is in my favor?"

"Works for me," Dean murmured. He leaned close again. This time Cas met him halfway, his lips parting and his hand coming up to stroke the nape of Dean's neck. Dean wanted to get closer, in Cas's lap, in his arms, a position he'd only ever been on the other side of before. The angle was great for thrusting his tongue in Cas's mouth, for grinding down, groin to groin. Cas's arms tightened on him, and sweat broke out on his forehead. It was getting really warm in the car, the windows fogging with steam. The moans and grunts from the front seat drowned out the rain outside and covered up the sound of wheels crunching in gravel beside them. _Wait, wheels?_

They fell backwards into the rain and mud when Cas's door was suddenly yanked open. Dean instinctively reached for his gun, and his wrist exploded in pain as someone slammed it hard against the side of the Impala. Beneath him, Cas echoed his grunt of pain. Dean thrashed, trying not to kick Cas, as he was hauled bodily out of the car and thrown into the muddy gravel of the road's shoulder. He immediately got his feet under him and, blinking rain from his eyes, rose to a crouch.

"Not so fast, Loverboy," a familiar voice slurred. Lightning cracked, illuminating Alistair and several henchmen, one of whom had his huge meaty paws wrapped around Cas's throat. Cas's feet dangled in the air and his hands scrabbled uselessly at his opponent. _He can't even lift his arms that high because of his fucking ribs._

Dean just lowered his head and ran at the man. He let go of Cas with a curse to meet Dean's charge. The scuffle was over incredibly quickly. Alistair had four huge, uninjured and well-armed henchmen with him. Dean and Cas had lost their guns and sustained injuries to their wrists, as well as Cas's previously bruised ribs. Still, they hadn't done too badly, Dean thought as his face was pressed into a puddle by Alistair. He could see to his left the lifeless eyes of Henchman #3, and the blood that was getting washed down the road by the rain belonged to Henchman #2.

Alistair pulled him up, and he gasped for breath. If only they hadn't been beaten to within an inch of their lives, maybe they'd have a chance. Dean glanced around wildly for Cas. Henchman #4 was still kicking him, a bit half-heartedly now. Dean growled low in his throat. Cas was curled into a ball, trying to protect his bruised ribs, and the rain wasn't washing away the long scar on the side of his face.

"Come along," Alistair lisped to #4, shaking Dean like a ragdoll. "We got what we came for."

"What you want me to do with this thing?" #4 grunted, kicking Cas once more.

Every single muscle in Dean's body screamed in pain, but it was nothing compared to the panic that seized his throat. What they came for, meaning him, not Cas. His outraged protest came out as more of a gargling whine, and Alistair cut his eyes at him, a cruel twist to his lips.

"Romeo over there killed one of my men," Alistair said, almost conversation-like. "He's not going to survive the night." He turned to Henchman #1. "Cut the brakes on the car and stuff him in the back. You," he said, gesturing to #4, "get our dead into the SUV."

Dean flailed in Alistair's grip, searching for purchase, anything to throw him off and get to Cas. He cried out, an inarticulate grunt, when #1 maimed the Impala, his proud, beautiful girl. He managed to slip free, for just a moment, when #1 hoisted an unmoving Cas over his shoulders and stuffed him in the backseat. Alistair tackled him to the ground before he had taken two steps and shoved his face into the mud. He got a mouthful of dirt and rain and blood as he screamed soundlessly and the rain pounded into his body. Cas looked so limp and lifeless already. Dean could feel the vise closing around his heart, choking off his breath more effectively even than Alistair, as #4 returned from his gruesome task and turned the key in the ignition. The Impala purred to life, and #4 stepped out, slamming the door and pushing the vehicle back onto the road.

Tears streamed down Dean's cheeks, mixing with the rain, and the last thought he had as Alistair choked him into unconsciousness was a half-formed prayer that his beloved Impala could somehow keep Cas safe. He loved the man, and what a time to realize it. The world went dark.

***

He was dreaming. He sat at the end of a dock, holding a fishing pole and contemplating the calm surface of the mountain lake before him. He took a deep breath of the crisp air and leaned back in his chair, turning his face to smile at the man next to him. But Cas was not smiling.

"You must wake up, Dean," he said, deadly serious and intense, Cas's Original Flavor. "You must fight him."

"Honestly, Cas? I'd rather just stay here with you."

The sun hadn't yet breached the tops of the mountain, and there was a chill in the air. No one else was around, just the two of them. It was absolutely perfect.

"I'm sorry, Dean," and he really did sound contrite, "but I insist. You _have_ to wake up."

"Why? Tell my why, Cas. What's so damn important out there?"

"I am out there," Cas said, and as was the nature of dreams, the fishing pole vanished and Cas was in front of him, bending slightly to grasp Dean's hands in his own. "You have to wake up for me. You have to be my ears and my eyes. Dean, Alistair is here. You have to determine _how_. You have to wake up, and live."

Dean's heart beat faster. "You will, too, right? You'll wake up?"

Cas gave him a sad smile. "I want to. Believe me. But first you must get free."

It was difficult. He wanted to stay beside Cas, beside that lake, breathe in the cool, crisp air, and when the sun came up, they would spread their clothes on the dock and lie down, soaking in the warmth of the sun's rays, before one or the other of them grew jealous of the sun's attention and covered the other's body with his own. They would come back here, he silently vowed to Cas, even as the surroundings slowly faded around him. Spray from the lake reached his lips, and then he was blinking his eyes open.

A lone light bulb swayed on a rope, illuminating Alistair in fits and starts as the former prisoner lowered the bottle of water.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." Alistair smirked at him. Dean blinked back. As acts of defiance went, it left much to be desired.

He couldn't turn his head. He wondered for a moment if that was due to injury or due to his bonds, clinical steel bindings lashing him to his seat at the ankles, wrists and waist. Cool metal dug into his neck when he tried to follow Alistair's pacing form, and he had his answer.

They were in a warehouse of some sort, and his brain strived to pick up identifying clues from his limited viewpoint, but all he got was "dark" and "dirty." His nostrils were filled with the scent of his own blood and when he pricked his ears, all he could hear was Alistair's shuffling steps and panting breaths. He was excited about something. _Probably getting me in this position._ With a sinking feeling, he remembered that Alistair and Meg shared the same last name. Had shared, before he'd killed Meg.

A patch of light opened behind him, a door, bringing with it the competing scents of fresh baked bread and stale urine, then it was shut and a set of women's high heels clicked across the floor, drawing closer.

"Send one of your men to confirm they've found the other one," she said, shoes tap-tap-tapping until she stopped in the circle of light. "Whatever possessed you to leave him behind? I will not have my plans derailed because of your flair for the dramatic."

Though her words addressed Alistair, it was Dean she stared at. Everything about her expression was subtly off – as if she had studied human interaction in a book but had never practiced it herself. It reminded Dean of Cas a bit, but Cas had an inner warmth in his eyes that helped take the sting out of being examined like a bug beneath a microscope. This woman – Lilith finally, at last – had none of that. And though at first glance she was pretty, her eyebrows were too arched, her hair shone brassily in an unnatural golden shade, her dress emphasized her angular body, leaving her as one long, harsh line.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Alistair jerk his head at someone outside the ring of light, and boots tromped off, slipping through a door on the opposite side of the building from where Lilith had come in. Dean hoped he fell and broke his neck before reaching Cas. Cas who surely, SURELY, was still alive, who'd been rescued, please God.

Lilith must have seen something change on his face. "They were copulating when you found them?" she asked.

_No, you bitch, your goons interrupted us before we could get that far._

Alistair muttered something in another language, and Lilith frowned.

"Crude. Why was I not informed of this earlier?" She didn't wait for Alistair's response, but took a step closer to Dean and ran a lacquered nail beneath his lower lip. He wondered what she would do if he bit it off. "Are you worried about your lover, Detective Winchester? There's no need for that. He is already dead. I could get you a replacement boy. For a price, of course."

He bit her then, watching in satisfaction as her eyes widened in surprise and she snatched her hand away. He'd managed to draw a bit of blood, metallic on his tongue. He'd go for her throat if only he could launch himself out of his chair.

Alistair moved into view then and backhanded him so hard his vision darkened. His chair rocked back with the force of the blow, and more blood filled his mouth, but he was happy to note his chair wasn't bolted to the ground. It was something, at least. He spat out a wad of blood and phlegm, narrowly missing Lilith's pointy-toed shoes. It landed with a splat on the concrete floor, the noise coming into sharper focus than the sound of Lilith and Alistair arguing.

Dean blinked again, slowly, like he was underwater, when Alistair grabbed him by the hair and forced his head back. He must have been in some kind of dentist chair, the kind he'd never seen at an actual dentist office but were in every horror movie ever made. Alistair's thumbs dug into his scalp as the metal brace on the chair dug into his jaw.

"Let me kill him now," he hissed.

"Don't be foolish," Lilith snapped back. "I did not tell you to bring him here just so you might kill him." She closed her hand into a fist around her bitten finger. "Detective Winchester will cooperate now." She sidled closer and peered at his face. "He doesn't believe me. Alistair."

Alistair balled up his fist and punched him in the side. All the breath left Dean in a whoosh as he involuntarily jerked in his bonds.

"Now. You have been looking for me. I was expecting you to be happier to see me, truth be told." Lilith's voice was flat and measured and seriously creeping Dean out, especially when she said, "My finger throbs. Alistair."

Alistair bent back Dean's left little finger and snapped it. "Fuck!" Dean swore and glared his rage at Alistair.

"I don't think you would enjoy that," Lilith mused. She gave him a reptilian smile, gone as quickly as it flashed across her face. "This is what you will enjoy: telling me what you know of Crowley's plans. Where is he? Why are you sheltering him?" She watched his face carefully as his thoughts leaped and jumped over each other in his brain. "Yes. I know he's alive. It was a clever ruse on his part, to be sure. But I will succeed."

Dean opened his mouth but Lilith forestalled him.

"You're going to lie to me," she said, and shook her head. "And for what? Crowley? A two-bit drug dealer with delusions of grandeur? _I_ am the Queen of the Underworld, Detective Winchester. Me. Alistair."

Alistair punched him in the side again. That was getting old.

"This is my birthright, Detective. Crowley cannot take it from me. Now–" She stopped as the door to the outside opened again. "One moment."

Dean could hear her shoes as she left his range of vision and walked to the new pool of light. Alistair flexed his knuckles and came to stand directly in front of Dean, slapping him almost lazily across the face. Dean bit back a groan.

"How'd you get out of your cage, freak?" he mumbled around another mouthful of blood.

"You think a man like me doesn't have friends?" Alistair said in a crooning voice. "I've got lots of friends, and they all missed me."

"More like they wanted to kill you themselves," Dean muttered. He thought back to Cas in the car that morning, saying Gabriel hadn't returned his call. If something had happened to him…

Alistair sneered at him. "That's going to drive you mad, isn't it? Wondering just who it was that sided with me over you. Dean, Dean, Dean – you are not that special." His arm shot out again, and Dean was going to have his own set of cracked ribs if this continued for much longer. Not that he was expecting Alistair to release him alive to appreciate his cracked ribs. But he had to get out, he _had to_ , he needed to get to Cas and get him safe and find Crowley. Alistair punched him again, and a moan escaped Dean's lips. "You're on the wrong side, Dean-o. There is nothing you could offer anyone that I couldn't top."

"Enough." Dean hadn't heard Lilith join them again, too busy fighting for breath. "Your idiot patsy in Hyattsville just radio-ed finding Detective Dean Winchester's Impala and a half-dead man inside. Half-dead, Alistair."

Dean's heart leapt and his mind whirled. Cas alive, and found by a cop, someone unwittingly working for Lilith, sure, but Cas was alive!

"He won't survive his wounds," Alistair blustered.

"Really? You have a guarantee of that? You've seen the future, Alistair?" For the first time, Dean could detect emotion in Lilith's voice – annoyance, sarcasm and condescension. A winning combo.

"I'll go now and finish him off," Alistair said, but Lilith waved a dismissive hand.

"You're supposed to be in federal custody. You and Raphael left Gabriel Smecher alive, too, lest you forget. No doubt by this time he's alerted his allies to your escape. Messy, Alistair." Her eyes lit on Dean's face. "Stop hitting him above the neck, and get him ready for transport."

"Five more minutes, Lilith, and I can have him spilling everything he's ever known about Crowley," Alistair protested.

Lilith pursed her lips. "No," she decided. "I don't think it would take just five minutes. We'll use him as bait and see what comes nibbling. His DHS lover, Crowley, or someone else. Perhaps his little brother."

Dean's stomach flipped. Lilith narrowed her eyes at him in a pleased smirk. "Oh, I know much and more about you, Detective Dean Winchester. I almost hope it's your brother who comes looking for you. I could use an ADA for my collection."

He tried to get loose when Alistair called a couple of goons over to help him wrestle Dean onto a stretcher, but every muscle in his body screamed in protest and he felt as weak as a newborn kitten. Lilith watched impassively as her men forced him into new bonds and he mumbled incoherent curses at them. He got off a couple of punches, ineffectual things that were more a nuisance than anything else, but they made him feel better. Alistair shoved a gag into his mouth, silencing him.

It was late afternoon, he guessed from the tiny patch of sky he saw when they wheeled him into a white van. The bread and urine smells he'd noted earlier were stronger then. They were probably in an alley behind a Subway shop or bakery. Which meant there were people nearby, real people unconnected to Lilith or Crowley or any of it. Not that he could reach them.

His feet were still hanging out of the back of the van when it came under attack. It was surreal, lying partly in a van, unable to see anything except the top of the vehicle as gunfire sounded around him. All he could do was hope he wasn't hit by a stray bullet.

Lilith's men were firing back, but they were bottled into the little alley. The van rocked as a body fell against it. Another goon tried to crawl into the back with him and fell out when his head exploded. As least, Dean presumed that was brain matter splatting his legs and making a mess of the inside of the van; he couldn't see down there. No doubt Lilith would accuse Alistair of shoddy planning, if they both survived the gun battle.

He was laughing a bit hysterically by the time Anna reached him and loosened his gag.

"Careful, Dean, you'll choke," she scolded him. He laughed harder. Anna turned to another FBI agent and shook her head. "Tell the medic we need a sedative."

"No, no," Dean managed. His mouth felt like he'd swallowed a couple of dirty socks. Hell, Alistair could've totally used dirty socks as a gag. "Cas. I need to know. Cas."

Fuck, his brain wasn't stringing the words into proper sentences, and he'd forgotten Anna didn't like Cas, and what was Anna doing there? And…

"Sam!" he gasped as his brother's huge head poked itself into the van.

"I didn't give you the all-clear yet, Sam!" Anna snapped at him. "Civilians behind the line, you promised."

Sam didn't even glance at her, or the man missing his head, but climbed right into the van.

"Dean, oh my god, what did they do to you? Are you okay? Tell me you're okay!"

"I'm fine, fine," he mumbled. Damn, he couldn't even speak right. Fucking gag. "How are you here? Wait, tell me later. Where's Cas? The Impala?"

Sam helped him sit up as Anna tutted and tried to push him back down. "Cas is in the hospital. Rufus found the Impala, he was on his way back to the station when that Chuck guy called his cell. Said he couldn't get a hold of you or Cas, so Rufus activated the police radio tracker in the Impala and when he found it, he called Henriksen directly."

"There's a dupe in the department," Dean said.

"Yeah, Henriksen was convinced of that, too, so he had Rufus wait to report it until Cas was in the hospital and Henriksen could follow who rebroadcasted it. And don't worry about the Impala, Bobby's already towed it back to his farm." Sam helped him to the edge of the van and they both paused. Dean stared in numb silence at the carnage in front of him. FBI agents knelt by several corpses. Dean recognized the two survivors of the assault on the Impala, no longer survivors. _Good riddance._ Alistair was slumped against the alley wall. There was no sign of Lilith anywhere. Alistair's eyelids fluttered open as if he could feel the weight of Dean's stare.

"You haven't stopped anything, Winchester," he rasped.

"I know one thing that's stopping," Anna declared, and jumped gracefully from the van to the asphalt. "Your life, Alistair Drac."

He glared up at her, but Dean could see it was true. Alistair had lost too much blood, and as Sam helped Dean down to the ground, his nose was assaulted by the stench of Alistair's guts, spilling out of his body, leaking around fingers that could hold him together no longer.

"You'll get yours, Red," Alistair said in a voice like sandpaper. "So will you, Winchester, you fucking cocksucker."

Dean took a couple of unsteady steps forward, paused, and spat a wad of blood and phlegm in Alistair's face. Alistair made a noise like a chuckle and the light left his eyes.

"Well," Anna said, "when I 'get mine' please remind me that I don't want my last word to be 'cocksucker.'" She ducked beneath Dean's arm. "Sam?"

Sam was staring at Alistair's death grimace, eyes a little wild.

"Sammy," Dean mumbled. "Come on, man."

His brother jerked himself out of his reverie and moved to his other side to help Anna lead him out of the alley. Sam's nose wrinkled as they passed Alistair, the terrorist's bowels releasing in death and sending a noxious puddle to spill onto the ground.

"A shithead even in death," Dean remarked. His ribs ached with each breath, and he took vicious glee in Alistair's undignified final repose. "Did any of you see Lilith?"

"Lilith?" Anna asked sharply. "Dean, are you sure? We haven't seen any women."

Dean's insides twisted as they made their way down the alley. "She was here, Anna! You have to find her!"

"Don't get worked up, you'll just hurt yourself more," she said firmly. "Calm down, we'll find her."

Dean wanted to punch something at the thought of Lilith getting away, she had threatened Sammy and Cas and America, dammit, but each step was agony. Henriksen was at the alley mouth, bossing around several men in the black gear of a PG County SWAT team.

"Agent Milton," he said, inclining his head in a respectful nod, and Dean's eyebrow quirked of its own accord. "I can take him off your hands now."

"Are you sure you want him back?" she asked dryly, but stepped away and let him take her place. "We'll debrief back at the station?"

"After I take Detective Winchester to the hospital," he agreed.

Dean waited until they were in the ambulance, his head spinning from the climb into the back he had insisted on making himself, before asking his questions. Maybe he was learning tact in his old age, though really it was probably because his brain felt like someone had poked a stick inside and scrambled everything up.

"Okay, so, we're working with the FBI? And are we going to the same hospital as Cas?"

"Lie down, Dean." Henriksen pushed him back onto the stretcher. Sam gave him as much of a sympathetic look as he could muster, half-folded in on himself and squashed into a corner.

"It's the closest hospital," Sam said. Dean let out a sigh of relief. He'd be able to see Cas with his own two eyes and confirm his survival _himself_. Not that he didn't trust Rufus, Anna and Henriksen; hell, they were a few of the only people he _did_ trust. But he needed to see him, touch him. And tell him about Lilith.

"Rufus suggested we get in touch with Agent Milton," Henriksen continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "But put that on hold. Why did Lilith grab you?"

Crowley. He'd forgotten about Crowley. His brains really were scrambled.

"Crowley's alive," he blurted out. "She was after Crowley!"

"Crowley the dead drug dealer who brought DHS down on our asses?"

"Not so dead." He glanced at the paramedic sharing the ambulance with them. It wasn't paranoid to think that she could be a spy, it was prudent. Henriksen followed his gaze.

"And you don't know where Crowley is?" he asked softly.

Dean shook his head. "None. And until this morning, I had no idea he was in the land of the living." Henriksen's face wobbled and Dean blinked to bring it back into focus. Except it wasn't Henriksen any more, just the paramedic and Sam, and they were wheeling him down a long hall. "Wha-aat?"

"You passed out, Dean," Sam said tersely. "Henriksen went back to the station; we're at the hospital."

"I can see the hospital," Dean said. Or at least he tried to. But his tongue felt funny in his mouth, kind of disconnected and heavy. "Cas?" He thought he got that out okay. He must have, as Sam nodded at him.

"When you wake up, Dean," he promised.

"Sir, you'll have to wait outside," a doctor was telling Sam, and then Dean was going through the big double doors, and his brother's face grew smaller and smaller in the little circular window. As darkness closed around Dean once more he realized he hadn't heard how his brother had managed to be at a crime scene in PG County to come to his rescue. It was another thing that would have to wait for him to wake up.

Chapter IX  
It takes a powerful man to carry that load

A pretty brunette woman was reading a magazine by his bedside when he opened his eyes again several hours later. The curtain to separate him from the other half of the room was drawn back, revealing an occupied hospital bed and several beeping machines, and beyond that, the night sky poking through the blinds.

"Cas?" Dean croaked, and the woman jumped.

"Oh, you startled me! I hadn't realized you'd woken up," she said.

"Cas?" he croaked again.

"He's still unconscious," she said, glancing across at the other bed.

Dean peered blearily at her. She looked vaguely familiar – pretty eyes, confident gaze, preppy clothes. "Sarah?" he asked.

She smiled, pleased. "I wasn't sure you'd remember. I sent Sam to get some food with your aunt and cousin," she added.

"Good," Dean grunted. "They like babying him." Her lips quirked at that. The last, and only time, he'd met Sarah had been at a classic car show Sam had bought them all tickets to attend. She seemed like good people.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Sarah." He had to pause to clear his throat. He could really handle some water. Wordlessly, she reached for the pitcher on his nightstand and poured a little into a cup for him. He nearly choked on it, but waved her off when she made to rise out of her chair. "So," he wheezed eventually. "Bleaurgh. Sorry about that."

"Are you okay?" she asked, a wrinkle of concern between her eyebrows.

"Yeah, good as new. Anyhow, that thing? That I've been meaning to ask you?" His lips were dry, too, maybe he could get her to give him her chapstick. Probably not, after she heard what he was going to say. "It's not a question, really. More like a statement: if you break his heart, I will destroy you."

He hadn't meant for it to come out so bald. That was a lie, he did. But he hadn't meant for it to come out when they were both sober. Though he supposed he could claim morphine delirium.

She held his gaze for a long moment before nodding.

"I have no intention of breaking his heart. I've had mine trampled before." She smiled suddenly, showing her canines. "Has anyone ever told you you're a bit too overprotective?"

"Nah. If they did, I'd break their face." They gazed at each other for one long moment before they both laughed, Dean's ribs reminding him quite painfully why he should not do that.

"Dean!" Sam appeared in the doorway, wincing at Dean's gasping wheeze of a laugh. "Oh my God, are you in pain?" He rushed to Dean's bedside, Jo and Ellen hot on his heels. Dean would have laughed harder at the sight of them falling all over themselves, but bruised ribs trumped his morphine good mood.

"They don't let you strangle cats in the hospital, Dean," Jo teased him, her light tone at odds with the tight worry lines around her eyes.

"Everybody move back and give the boy some air," Ellen commanded, hooking her fingers in Sam's and Jo's collars and giving a tug. She immediately took their place at the head of his bed, glanced across him at Sarah, then turned her focus on Dean. "You're grinning like a loon. How much morphine did they give you?"

"Enough to float a boat. I'm good as new, ready to get back to work." He coughed, and winced at the flare of pain in his chest. Ellen raised her brow at him. "At least well enough for Sam to fill me in on some things."

"Sam is not a law enforcement official," a male voice said from the doorway. Dean looked through his family members to see Anna standing ramrod straight in the entrance to the room, Gabriel Smecher beside her with tired eyes and one arm in a sling.

"Are you trying to kick us out?" Jo asked, her voice escalating. "We're not leaving. We just got back here!"

Anna and Gabriel were armed, Ellen and Jo were not, but if he didn't do something, Dean had a feeling the agents were going to get their asses handed to them. "Aunt Ellen," he croaked, playing up the family angle, and she knew it, too, judging from her narrowed eyes, "could you please call Bobby for me? The Impala's hurt bad, I need to know she'll be okay." He gave her his absolute best Bambi eyes.

Ellen could never resist the Bambi eyes. She gave Anna a level look, then laid her hand on her daughter's arm and said in a loud whisper, "It's okay, we'll get all the important stuff later. Come with us, Sarah," she said, raising her voice, "it's high time we got to know one another. Jo's gonna call Bobby, _I_ can't wait to hear why Sam didn't tell us about you for so long."

Sam cringed as the three women left, each shooting him identical looks of disgruntlement. Dean found it uproariously funny, but only managed a slight croak.

"Explain to me again why the moose gets to stay?" Gabriel asked, gesturing at Sam after the door shut behind Sarah and her interrogators.

"Dean will just tell him everything after we leave anyhow," Anna answered crisply. She'd changed since the alley, and was in her no-nonsense FBI pantsuit. Her pumps beat a sharp staccato on the tiles as she crossed to Dean's bed and picked up his medical chart. The noise reminded him uncomfortably of Lilith in the warehouse.

"How did Lilith get away?" he asked with no preamble.

Gabriel and Anna exchanged a look. "You're absolutely sure she was there?" Anna asked.

"Am I – what?" Dean struggled to sit up. "She was _there_ — at the alley, you said–" He batted away Sam's hands, trying to get him to relax, and glared at Anna. "I asked you about her there!"

"And I said no one had seen her," Anna snapped back. She took a deep breath, visibly calming herself. "Look. Dean. There's no record of what went on in that warehouse. _No one else saw Lilith_."

"Then why'd you even bother going there?" he grumbled.

Anna sighed and glanced over at Cas's bed, but it was Gabriel who answered, looking down at Cas's unconscious body. "Because my brother asked us to."

Dean's throat closed and his eyes watered. Cas had been unconscious the last time he'd seen him, practically at death's door. How had he said anything? Would he ever say anything again?

"When Rufus found the Impala," Sam said in a low voice, "there was a message written in blood on the floormat. _AD has DW_ , and a license plate number."

Dean blinked rapidly and looked up at the ceiling. The tiles were fascinating and not at all blurry.

"Your partner and Major Henriksen did not divulge that information to the rest of your fellow cops," Anna said, picking up where Sam had left off. "Instead they called me with it, then set their trap for the informant at your station."

"And who was it?" Dean asked in a rough voice. His brother squeezed his shoulder briefly, and Dean drew strength from Sam's sure grip.

"Scott Carey. Henriksen thinks he had no idea he was helping Lilith. A classic patsy. I'd like to investigate myself–"

"IA will do it," Dean interrupted her. Scott Carey. Damn. He was just a kid, young and a little stupid, easily manipulated. Dean could picture him at the crime scene outside the West Hyattsville Metro. Someone was going to have to tell him of his other connection to the murdered DHS Agent. IA would hardly sugarcoat it, but Anna would break Carey with one look. Anna opened her mouth to argue with him, but Gabriel cut her off.

"Leave off, Anna. It's not really your jurisdiction."

"Lilith's involvement makes it a federal case," she said, shaking her head.

"So now you believe me that Lilith was there?" Dean asked drily.

"I didn't _say_ I didn't believe you–"

"Sure as hell what it sounded like to me!"

Gabriel stuck two of his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Dean and Anna shut up and turned to glare at him. He grinned back. "Ladies. You're both beautiful. But maybe we have other things to discuss?"

_Ladies?_ "Okay, asshole," Dean agreed. "How about you explain how the fuck Alistair got out of your custody and ambushed me and Cas?"

Gabriel winced, his eyes darting back to Cas again. "Fuck. That's quite the tale."

"He break your arm for you?" Dean asked.

"Despite my heroic acts of brave derring-do. Probably would have garroted me but for Balthazar," Gabriel continued, mumbling.

"Who's Balthazar?"

"Another Agent. Friend of ours." Gabriel gestured between him and Cas. "Anyhow. We hid Alistair, like we said we would. And Lilith technically didn't find us."

"What he means is, Raphael found them. And Lilith was following _him_ , letting him do all the dirty work to find you, because she knew he would." Anna was glaring at Gabriel by the time she finished.

"So Raphael is my fault now? What, I'm supposed to keep all the balls in the air?" Gabriel looked like he wanted to cross his arms, but that was a bit impossible with one arm in a sling.

"No, just your own," Anna shot back. Dean and Sam exchanged quick glances, lips twitching.

"Anna Milton, going for the potshot. Never thought I'd see the day. If you'll recall, _you_ said you'd keep an eye on Raphael–"

"An eye, not a tail!"

"—because he already distrusted me, remember that? Remember how he'd like to hang Cas out to dry?"

"'Cas' is hardly pure as the driven snow—"

"Enough," Dean cut them off with a growl. It was no longer strangely amusing to watch the two of them go at it like squabbling children. "Whoever fucked up, it's done." Which could have been worded more diplomatically, as Anna and Gabriel both narrowed their eyes at him, but whatever. "Alistair escaped, knocked Gabriel down for the count, so I bet neither of you know that Crowley is alive? Right?"

Gabriel's eyes widened. "The fuck?"

Anna frowned as she ran through her mental notes. "Crowley. A mid-level manager in Lilith's organization? The corpse that brought you into contact with DHS?"

"Yeah. Him. Not a corpse anymore. That's why Alistair grabbed us. Lilith thought Crowley and I were working together." He cleared his throat. "Alistair made the decision to leave Cas behind, as a kind of warning."

"How'd he get the jump on you?" Gabriel asked. Dean could feel a flush crawl up his neck, and he was suddenly powerfully aware that he was in a hospital gown, which was not high enough to cover up the remnants of his Cas-given hickey. Gabriel's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"He's Alistair," Anna said with a wave of her hand, continuing on, oblivious. "Let's get back to Lilith in the warehouse. Dean, anything you remember will help. Give us some details. How did she hold herself? Why did she need to find Crowley? Start at the beginning."

Sam poured him several cups of water over the next hour, and helped him walk on wobbly legs to the little ensuite bathroom twice, as he struggled to dredge up everything his detective's mind had taken in from the warehouse and Lilith's behavior, back to the meeting with Crowley at Chuck's mother's house that morning. The only thing he left out was the content of the conversation he and Cas had been having when Dean had pulled over on that fateful stretch of shoulder in PG County. Still, there was something about her expression when he spoke about Cas and the Impala getting pushed down the rainy road, and he didn't dare meet her eyes until he was delving into the part of the story within the warehouse. One look at her, and he knew her obliviousness had been feigned. She knew. A miniscule shrug of her shoulders, and she let him go, neatly severing their relationship. It might have stung but for the morphine and the fact that it had never truly been real. Maybe now it could develop into a real friendship. He sat a bit straighter in his hospital bed and told them everything he could recall of Lilith.

Cas still hadn't woken by the time they were done going over every detail and hashing it out again and again. Anna and Gabriel left first, off to do important things, useful things, while Dean had to lie on his ass in the hospital.

"Crowley's not going to talk to one of them," he groused to Sam after they left.

"Thought you didn't want to talk to Crowley, either," Sam said, surreptitiously checking his watch.

"I don't, but they're not going to find his sorry ass until he comes crawling out of the muck again, and he's not going to _do_ that for one of them."

Sam looked down again.

"I'm sorry, princess, are you going to turn into a pumpkin or something?" Dean asked, annoyed. "Why the hell do you keep checking your damn watch?"

Sam started. "Uh," he stammered, running a hand through his hair. "Ellen and Jo have had Sarah to themselves for an awfully long time…"

"Dude, seriously?! Lilith and Crowley are on the loose, Crowley could still _conceivably_ initiate a terrorist attack on U.S. soil, fuck, Lilith still could if she could get her hands on her money, I'm stuck in the hospital, can't do shit about any of this, the Impala is up on bricks at Bobby's, and Cas – _Cas still hasn't woken up_!"

His voice cracked a bit at the end, embarrassing him. He'd put it down to the morphine later. Anything weird he said would be laid firmly at morphine's door.

Sam gave him a stricken look. "I'm sorry, Dean! I–"

"Forget it."

"Dean—"

"No, I mean, this isn't your problem, you're not a cop—"

"I know, I can't do anything about that, but I know what it's like to love some—"

"Stop talking."

"Dean—"

" _Stop talking._ "

Dean's nostrils flared, and Sam shut up. An awkward silence descended on them as Dean's stomach did flip-flops. It was one thing, maybe admitting certain feelings to himself when he'd had the shit beaten out of him and circumstances looked dire. But having Sam voice them out loud? That was just – that was too much.

Sam cleared his throat. "So. It's great not talking about this stuff, really, Dean, but if you change your mind… call me instead of Oprah, okay?"

It startled a small smile from Dean's lips. "Get out of here, you big girl."

"You sure? You need anything else?"

_For Cas to wake up. Can you make that happen?_ "Nah. I've got my water. Well, you could send Jo in. To give me an update on my baby."

Sam smiled, and leaned down to brush his lips across Dean's forehead. Dean blinked at him. Sam hadn't kissed him since they were kids; Dean distinctly remembered the last time – Sammy had stayed up late, reading by flashlight under his covers, back when they lived with their dad in the apartment off New York Ave. Where the Red Fern Grows, that had been the book, and Sammy had been a mess of tears and clinging hugs, kissing and snotting all over Dean's forearm when he'd wrapped his arms around his little brother and let him sleep the rest of the night with him. Dean's eyes watered now. From the morphine.

Sam squeezed his shoulder again and hurried off to rescue Sarah from their aunt and cousin.

Dean threw the covers off the minute the door closed behind Sam. It was a very short walk to the other end of the room and Cas's bed, but it took almost all his energy. Finally he was leaning down over Cas's bed, looking into his face.

He had a hell of a shiner, and little bandages over his right cheekbone. He was breathing on his own, though, which was awesome, absolutely awesome, and it took Dean a moment to realize he was mumbling that out loud.

"You're awesome, Cas, you're gonna be fine, and we'll let Gabriel and Anna worry about those other fuckers, we'll go and put the Impala back together, you and me and Bobby, and Sammy can help, but he's kind of pitiful with cars, don't tell him I said that, he likes to think he knows what he's doing. She's beat up pretty bad, but we can fix her. You just need to wake up. Come on, dude, you can't leave me out on this limb by myself. I need you to help me fix the Impala. Come on, Cas. Come on."

His own bed was so far away, and he was so tired. He crawled up next to Cas. The bed was huge. It was easy to avoid the wires hooking Cas up to beeping machines, easy to put his arms around the other man's body and hold him to his chest.

"Just gonna rest my eyes here with you for a moment," Dean informed him. The morphine made him press a kiss to Cas's dark hair. Dean was not a snuggler and hair-kisser, so it _had_ to be the morphine. "Jo's coming, and she'll tell us about the Impala, and we'll go to Bobby's, and I'll tell you that I choose you. 'Cause I chose you, Cas."

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.  
***

He woke up ten hours later, blinking crust from his eyes. His right arm was asleep, probably thanks to Cas sleeping on it. Cas had shifted in the night, and there were fewer tubes going into him. He must have…

"Cas, did you wake up?" Dean asked in a voice that sounded like rusty hinges.

Cas didn't say anything, but his hand twitched where it was splayed across Dean's shoulder and his lips parted slightly.

"You bet your ass he woke up!"

Dean got whiplash, he turned so quickly. Ellen settled back into her armchair, eyes dancing.

There were several ways he could play this. He could pretend he _wasn't_ overjoyed to hear that Cas had woken up, he was merely concerned, as one colleague to another, since he had just accidentally fallen asleep… with his arms wrapped around another man. Fuck it. He was going to choose the tried-and-true 'act like nothing weird is going on here' and hope that Ellen felt like playing along.

"So, uh, what time is it?"

Ellen's eyebrows practically climbed into her hair.

"Mid-morning. And don't you try playing 'nothing weird is going on here' with me, Dean Bean, I taught it to you." Dean winced, and Ellen gave him a ghost of a smile before sobering. "Now you tell me how you're feeling, the truth, you hear."

He cleared his throat. The truth was he ached all over, he needed to pee abominably and he had no idea how Ellen was going to react to Cas. And truthfully, he needed her to like him.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Translation: you feel like you've just played the part of the piñata at Jo's eighth birthday party." Her eyes roamed his face, his arms still holding Cas, Cas himself. She started speaking again, almost as if she was talking to herself. "I remember the morning after your momma died, seeing you with Sammy, I knew right then you'd go into the family business, you'd be a cop, you'd do something crazy where you're always risking your life for someone else."

"Aunt Ellen—"

"No hear me out," she said, raising her hand, her voice growing stronger. "I'm not done. I didn't want you to be a cop, God knows I don't want Jo to follow after you and wear a damn gun and a badge, but she's gonna. You, Sam, Jo – what you do is in your blood, and you're not gonna stop." She leaned forward, all mirth gone from her eyes, and laid her hand gently on his arm. "And I worry, you know I do. You're always looking out for Sam, and I know the two of you will be the support Jo needs when she graduates. But you, you always big brother Sam whenever he wants to protect you back. You need someone, you need _family_ to watch your back, Dean. And if this man here is it," she tapped lightly on Cas's hand, "then he's better than fine with me."

Dean swallowed hard and tore his eyes away from Ellen's to blink at the wall. Watery eyes must be a side effect of morphine. She graciously gave him a moment. What must they have talked about, Ellen and Cas, when Cas woke up in the hospital, being held by Dean with Dean's tiny, motley crew of a family gathered round? It was just… so fucking intimate it was making Dean's skin crawl, even though he never wanted to let Cas out of his sight, out of his arms. And Ellen, spilling her guts to him like that? God, he wished he could set her fears to rest. He needed more morphine.

"Thanks, Ellen," he managed finally. "Really."

"I know it's a lot to take in." Ellen pushed back in her seat and stood up. She, too, leaned over and brushed her lips across his forehead. The hospital was bringing out the sappiness in his entire family. He doubted Jo had kissed him, though. She'd probably taken pictures of him and Cas snuggled together like bunnies. Dammit. "I've got to get back to the Roadhouse before Ash burns it down. He'll be in later to see you, by the way, with old Rufus."

"Awesome," he mumbled. He hoped Sam had filled Ash and Rufus in; he really didn't feel like going over everything yet again. And Rufus was probably going to kill him; their case had exploded, doubling their workload and where was Dean? Stuck in the fucking hospital. "Did the doctor tell you when I could get out of here?"

"Patience is a virtue, Dean," she said, that old twinkle back in her eye. "Rest up. Oh, and Jo left you a note." She fished a scrap of paper out of her jeans pocket, kissed his forehead once more and left with a lingering glance at Cas's sleeping face.

Dean opened the note one-handed. He still couldn't move his right arm, thanks to Cas.

__  
Brakes, bumper, alignment – nothing insurmountable – Bobby ordering parts.  
Cute boyfriend, btw. Where's mine? :P  
P.S. Try not to get yourself killed, or my mom'll kill you.  
P.P.S. Sarah seems nice.  


_Nothing insurmountable_ \-- those were the magic words. They could put his baby back together. He yawned widely, and hobbled carefully into the tiny bathroom. It was a lot easier to do with Sam helping him walk and waiting outside, but he was pretty proud of himself. _Dean Winchester, able to piss on his own. Someone give him a medal._ He should really return to his own bed, but Cas's was so warm and comfortable and easy to fall into. So he did.

He woke up again when the flash went off in his face.

"Jesus, Ash!" he yelped, eyes flying open as his brain told him to reach for his gun, wake up, defend. There was a loud slapping noise, and Ash howled in pain.

"Why'd you smack me, old man?"

"You don't use flash when you're going for blackmail photos, you idiot. The point is for him not to know you took them, dang."

"Gee, thanks for defending my honor, partner," Dean muttered, eyes adjusting. Ash and Rufus were both grinning at him, Ash rubbing his head and trying to give Dean a wink at the same time.

"We can let you go back to snuggling and cuddling, Winchester, if that's what you want," Rufus said.

"I'm not fucking cuddling. My arm's asleep." Why hadn't he got out of Cas's bed and into his own? He was never going to live this thing down.

"That's 'cause Prince Charming is snuggling it," Rufus snorted. "Ash, tell Sleeping Beauty here what you told me about the bank accounts."

Sleeping Beauty reminded him of Alistair's taunts, and he shifted uncomfortably in the bed, missing whatever teasing remark Ash led off with. Which was just as well. Rufus watched him sharply, eyes narrowed. He'd noticed something.

"—all frozen. So then I thought to myself, 'Self, what about the _unofficial_ accounts?' They have to have them, right? What's in _those_? And…"

Dean tried to pay attention, but Ash's creative accounting was even more boring than his technobabble. And Cas was sleeping on his chest, his partner was watching and doing his damn best to act nonchalant, which was so out of character for Rufus, Dean could only surmise he'd actually been afraid for Dean's life.

"…through the foster system which, please, I could crack those in my _sleep_ , it's like stealing candy from a baby – a big, whiny baby with no motor control and itty bitty hands and…"

Cas was snuffling in his sleep, like a cute puppy, and Dean caught himself starting to make a doofy grin. He looked up quickly and saw Rufus rolling his eyes, a much more normal Rufus Turner reaction.

"…under Fremont! The name of the foster family she had in New Harmony, Indiana, twenty years ago!" Ash announced triumphantly.

"Wait, what?" Dean asked.

"My point exactly." Ash nodded. "Pretty creepy, right? Hiding thousands of dollars in an account named after your old foster family, that just _happened_ to die in a mysterious house fire? Bet she thought no one would ever be able to trace her back as Lily Fremont. Just goes to show you can't hide from Dr. Badass." He blew on his knuckles and waggled his eyebrows.

"Lilith was in foster care?"

"Fucking pay attention, Baby Winchester," Rufus chided him. He returned Dean's dirty look with a broad smirk.

"Yeah, once I cracked it open, all this shit spilled out." Ash glanced around the hospital room. "Hey, has anyone brought you chocolates yet? Or cheetos, I'm not too fussed, but I could use something…"

"Later, Ash." Dean snapped his fingers, getting Ash's focus back on him. "Who were Lilith's birth parents?"

"Mother died giving birth, far as I can tell. Her father, though, he was a real piece of work." He made a face. "Legally changed his name to Lucifer, went a little batshit crazy, got himself institutionalized. Why Lilith got put in foster care in the first place."

"Huh," Dean mused, chewing on his lower lip. "Something Crowley said…"

"What?" Rufus asked. "Come on, spit it out."

"He said Lilith was looking for approval from an absent father," Cas rasped, eyelashes fluttering as he slowly blinked his eyes open. Dean forgot to breathe for a moment when their eyes met. Ash said something, and so did Rufus, but Dean didn't hear them. Cas was alive, and awake, and right there. Unthinking, he brought his left hand up to cup Cas's chin and leaned down to kiss him.

Cas's lips were dry, and his breath was foul, as was Dean's, but he didn't care, and deepened the kiss. Cas finally broke the kiss, breathing hard.

Ash wolf whistled.

"Nice tiles you got here," Rufus remarked, squinting up at the ceiling.

Dean ignored them both. Cas was staring at him, his typical intense blue gaze, only slightly clouded by pain and sleep. There was a spark burning within their depths, something like joy. Dean took a deep breath.

"Okay. So Lilith's got her hands on some emergency funds. What about Crowley?"

They talked until the doctor came and kicked Rufus and Ash out, and made Dean get back in his own bed, with the promise that Dean, at least, might be discharged the next day.

Later that evening, ensconced once again in Cas's bed, with Cas asleep on his chest, Dean's mind turned back to his meeting with Crowley. There was something about how he'd spoken of Lilith. Alistair and all the rest had seemed cowed by her, but Crowley had been almost contemptuous. Though still scared, and if not of Lilith, then what or who? With that thought, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

The next two weeks passed with the same feeling, as if bugs were crawling beneath his skin. Cas felt it too, and tempers were short in Bobby's house. Dean was beginning to think Bobby'd kick them out for disturbing his peace, but he never did.

A constant stream of traffic showed up at the farmhouse from DC and PG County. Sam, of course, and Anna, Gabriel, Ash, Rufus, Ellen and Jo, Major Henriksen, once even Chuck and Becky, all found their way out to the Singer homestead in between turning the DC metro area upside-down and shaking it for Lilith and Crowley.

For the first week, Dean worked on restoring the Impala with Bobby, in between bickering with everyone who came by with information on the case, and Cas most of all, after his early release from the hospital the day after Dean. It seemed Dean couldn't resist picking at whatever they had between them, as if everything he had said under the influence of morphine was an invitation to see how much he could push before he broke it. And every moment he wasn't covered in engine grease or yelling at Ash or Cas or whoever, he and Cas spent fucking.

He had no idea where they got the stamina from. They were both still on pain pills, and Cas had to wear a boot cast on his left leg, but that first night at Bobby's, after Dean had helped Cas up the stairs to his old room, they'd undressed and crawled into bed, falling into exhausted sleep. Dean had woken up to find Cas half-hard and half-asleep, pressing up against his ass.

He almost had a second freakout, bigger than the first, but then Cas had woken completely up, looked at his face, and slid down the bed to lick him open, his tongue delving in again and again, reducing Dean to a quivering, whimpering mess. He was round the bend before he even felt the first press of Cas's cock entering him, and maybe it hurt, a little, but he'd had aspirin before bed, he always kept lube in his night stand, and Cas was hitting his prostate, slowly, sleepily, and it took them half an hour to come.

The next morning he'd woken a little sore, a little surprised, and Cas had fucked him again, lying draped across his back, rocking the bed with each slow thrust, the pillow catching each of Dean's moans and muffling the noise.

As the days passed, and the Impala returned to fighting shape, he and Cas fucked and argued in equal amounts. Cas was no pushover, dominating Dean in their bed, despite his more substantial injuries. To his utter embarrassment, Dean found that he loved not needing to be the strong one for once, loved it when Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders for better leverage and moved inside him. It just made him lash out harder during the day, though, arguing about the dumbest things imaginable, not even related to the case – the type of bread for sandwiches, if it would rain in the afternoon or the evening, even once over the shirt Cas was wearing. Cas had won that one by stripping the shirt off and using it to gag Dean as he fucked him in the barn with Bobby and his neighbor right outside, talking tractors.

News finally began to trickle in. The first piece Henriksen brought himself. After finding out his inadvertent connection to Lilith, Officer Scott Carey wrote a note to his mother and then blew his brains out in the Hyattsville break room. Dean went into the barn and punched bales of hay, muttering obscenities. Cas found him there an hour later, a dirty, sweaty mess, and pushed him against the side of the barn before kneeling and taking him into his mouth. Dean was rougher than he meant to be, but Cas took it, and pretended the tears on Dean's cheeks were tracks of sweat.

Chuck and Becky didn't have a death to report, or at least they had no body. Becky's erstwhile boss, the motivational speaker who'd taken War as his dumbass stage name, had disappeared without a trace. Becky didn't seem put out by it, and spent their entire visit grilling Bobby about the method he used for arranging the books in his den, and had he ever considered going digital? Chuck drew Dean and Cas aside to tell them that he had his ear to the ground for any word on Lilith or Crowley, but even he, with all his contacts, hadn't heard anything about their whereabouts. The only thing he could gather was that Lilith's new crime family had imploded.

"My guess is she promised them fireworks and they turned on her when the show fizzled," Chuck said. "And can you blame them? I once went to this fireworks show set to music from Star Wars and it rained. No fireworks, and my Boba Fett costume was ruined. It sucked ass. I would have demanded my money back if I'd actually paid for a ticket."

The next death was found by Gabriel and Agent Balthazar Dion. Dean disliked the new agent on sight, but Cas looked happy to have him sitting at Bobby's rickety kitchen table with them. Cas even laughed at one of Balthazar's jokes, the two of them chortling over a literary bon mot that Dean got, thank you very much, but he found to be pretentious. He broke one of Bobby's plastic cups from an ancient _Jurassic Park_ and Burger King special deal, his death grip sending soda leaking over his fingers and spilling across the table. Balthazar had smirked at him as Cas helped him clean it up, and told them he and Gabriel had found the man codenamed Pestilence in his filthy apartment, bugs crawling over his corpse. He'd been poisoned, they thought, but they'd turned the body over to the CDC. Security around the Capitol building had been tightened and double-tightened, in case Lilith tried again with a new delivery man, but according to Ash, it didn't look like she could afford to.

Especially when Anna showed up with news of Brady's death. The FBI had recovered all three crates from Niveus; however, one small vial was still missing. It looked like Brady had been mauled by wild animals, his guts strewn around him, Anna said, her face turning a shade paler than usual. It must have been pretty disgusting to get that kind of reaction from Anna, Dean thought.

"Which do you think did it?" Dean asked her, sitting over plates of spaghetti in Bobby's kitchen. _Where the magic happens_. He poked at the long strands of spaghetti. They looked like entrails, but he slurped them right up, unfazed. Bobby looked a little sick, but sprinkled on extra Parmesan cheese.

"He was closer to Lilith," Anna mused.

"Lilith's allies are drying up," Cas argued. "And according to Chuck, her unification of the criminal activity in this area has fallen apart. I do not think she would destroy one of her lieutenants at this point."

"Death by dog strikes me as Crowley," Dean agreed, mouth full of meatball. Bobby didn't even flinch from the meaty spray, just flicked it off and continued eating.

Cas gave him a smile, recently rare when they were out of bed, for agreeing with him for once. Anna snorted and muttered something under her breath. Dean rolled his eyes. She might be okay with his 'relationship' with Cas, in theory, but it was different when they were all conscious and in the same room together. If Cas said up, Anna said down. That friendship would need patience to get back, not really Cas's strong suit. It frustrated Cas, Dean could tell by the way he fucked him hard that night, Dean bracing himself on his childhood desk while Cas stood behind him and slammed in again and again, his fingers roughly jerking Dean off in time with his thrusts.

After the first week, Dean was deemed fit enough to return to work, and he joined in the long commute each day. He could have stayed in his own apartment, but Cas was in Frederick County. They never talked about what was going on between them, just argued and fucked. Now that Dean was back at work, Cas's own uncertain future with Homeland Security weighed heavier on him. Dean hadn't a clue how to solve that problem, frustrated himself with being relegated to paperwork in case he still had any aches and pains. The best he could do was to let Cas have his way in bed. Cas rode him so hard one night he blacked out when he came, Cas sheathed tight all around him as his hips left the mattress and his fingers dug gouges in Cas's thighs. Dean screamed so loud that night Bobby couldn't look at him the next morning.

But when they were both awake and orbiting each other in the kitchen or the living room or the yard, Dean couldn't stop himself from sniping at Cas, questioning his assertions on what he thought Lilith might do next (even when he agreed), who he thought might offer an alliance to Crowley, everything. Bobby kept opening his mouth to say something, before shaking his head and limping away.

Sam joined them every few days for dinner at Bobby's house. At the end of the second week, he arrived bearing pizza. Cas was quiet and moody, disgruntled about still being benched, still wearing his boot cast. Dean was snappish after a day spent in the company of Gordon Walker, who'd delighted in making snide remarks about his still-missing zombie drug dealer.

"So! What's going on with the search, Dean?" Sam asked, a string of cheese dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"A whole lotta nothing, with a side order of shit and red tape," Dean answered, filching another slice of pepperoni off a piece of pizza still in the box. "No one's seen hide nor hair of Lilith, or Crowley."

"Sounds promising," Sam said with a laugh. Cas gave him a flat look, but said nothing. "Sorry, just an attempt at levity."

"These two don't do 'light,'" Bobby snorted. "It's like living with sturm und drang in the flesh."

"Yeah, and you're Merry Sunshine herself," Dean grumbled back.

"I am getting nowhere with the case, Sam," Cas interjected, "because I am stuck here in Frederick County and utterly useless. Dean, on the other hand, has the respect and support of his station, and is able to accomplish things."

Dean rocked back in his chair as if slapped, and Sam paused in mid-bite. "Here it comes," Bobby muttered under his breath.

"What the fuck, Cas? You're not useless! You think I make you feel useless?"

"You misunderstand me. I am simply stating a fact," Cas said in a clipped voice.

"Bullshit. You think I suck at this, don't you?" Oh, yeah, they probably should have talked about their thing before now, Dean could see that in retrospect. "You think I'm a shit – person – for you, don't you?"

"Lover."

"Jesus, Cas! Sam and Bobby are right the fuck here!" Sam and Bobby were resolutely staring at their plates.

Cas slammed his fist on the table, the unexpected show of physical violence from Cas drawing all eyes to him.

"They know, Dean. Everyone knows! We slept in the same hospital bed. That we're lovers is hardly a secret. Your friends and family have accepted it without a batted eye. What are you so afraid of? Do I disgust you so much?"

Dean's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Fuck, Sam and Bobby were both staring at him now. Sam probably wanted him to make some gushy romantic declaration. He swallowed. "I thought we were talking about the case."

Cas sighed heavily. "Of course, Dean. The case takes precedence with you." He stood up, his chair scraping loudly. "You'll forgive me if I'm done discussing the case for the evening. Thank you for the pizza, Sam."

"I paid for the pizza!" Dean yelled after him. He wished he had a better comeback. And one that was true.

"You're a moron," Sam informed him. "And you owe me twenty-five bucks."

"I'm good for it." They all distinctly heard the sound of Dean's old bedroom door closing upstairs. Dean took a vicious bite out of his now-cold pizza. So much for getting laid tonight.

"'Good for it'? Really, Dean, are you? Why are you pushing him away?"

"I'm—"

"No, shut up, Dean, I already know why. I know you better than you know yourself." Sam let out an exasperated breath. "I've tried telling you this your whole life, and you've never believed me, but try to listen, okay? It's okay to let other people in. You're worth it! Me and Bobby, Ellen and Jo – you can expand the circle. Please just let him in. He wants it, despite all your issues, just – let him in, okay?"

The susurration of crickets and cicadas drifted through the open screen door. It was the first warm night of spring. In another couple of weeks, it'd be warm enough for him to take Cas out into one of the surrounding fields at night and watch the stars come out. Which was what Dean had always called it when he'd taken a girl out to the fields and ignored the stars in favor of sex. But with Cas, they'd probably do both. If he didn't leave Dean before then.

"You think I have issues?" he asked finally.

" _Dean_."

"Sorry," he muttered.

"It's Cas you should apologize to," Bobby said, and rose, collecting the paper plates and lifting the pizza box lids to survey the leftovers. "Your brother's right."

Dean just grunted in reply. The other two bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up and eventually striking up a conversation about something Sheriff Mills had told Bobby the other day. Dean went into the den and tuned them out.

What the fuck was he doing with Cas? He thought he'd had it all figured out. He liked Cas, Cas liked him. They certainly trusted and depended on one another. And the sex was fantastic. He never would have guessed, but putting himself completely into Cas's power and allowing Cas to fuck him, reach so deeply into him, and Cas coming inside him, breathing his name with such reverence, falling apart even as his arms tightened around Dean – it was a huge fucking turn-on. He maybe even loved Cas.

But admitting that shit out loud? He couldn't take it back. It could be used against him. He'd just – he'd had his family for such a long time. They weren't going to leave if he did something stupid. Cas _could_. But right now, he was the one who'd abandoned Cas.

The floorboards creaked as he climbed the stairs to his old bedroom and pushed open the door, pausing in the doorway. Shadows hid Cas's face and painted his bare chest. Dean made a noise low in his throat, and Cas turned. He didn't say anything as Dean walked across the floor to his bed, remaining quiet and watchful when Dean stopped at the foot of the bed, when Dean slowly unbuckled his shoulder holster and laid it on the nightstand next to Cas's gun, when he pulled his shirt off over his head and shucked his jeans and underwear, when Dean stood there, awaiting Cas's decision. Dean couldn't look away from his eyes. Cas should reject him, close his eyes and push him away. Instead there was a challenge staring out at him.

Cas stretched out in the bed, his nostrils flaring slightly. Dean swallowed and held out a hand, resting it lightly on the worn cotton of Cas's pants. Cas held his gaze for a long drawn-out moment before nodding just slightly. The pajama bottoms made a slight rustle as Dean dropped them onto the floor.

The bed squeaked and groaned when he climbed on top of Cas. He was just enough taller to cover the other man's body completely. Cas's hands came to rest loosely on Dean's waist, not holding him or pulling him near, but not pushing him away either. Dean cupped Cas's jaw in his hands and kept his eyes wide open when he kissed Cas. Each of his kisses told a piece of the story, words translated into action with each lick and nibble, reinforced by the pads of his thumbs brushing circles along Cas's jaw.

Cas's arms tightened around him and his lips parted to Dean's questing tongue. Dean forgot how many kisses they exchanged after that, gentle things completely different in tone than the aggressive passion of their first encounter. It was weird, but good, so unlike any of Dean's previous romantic relationships, his _lovers_. His kisses stuttered to a halt as the word seared itself into his brain. Cas looked up at him, a knowing expression on his face, before he sighed and lowered his eyes.

"No," Dean rasped, breaking their silent conversation. "I know I suck at this lover thing, and I'm sorry. But don't give up on me. Please don't. I'll – I'll try–"

"I need you to be my lover outside of this bed, too, Dean," Cas said bluntly. "I'll take you however I can get you, and take only what you give me. But I _want_. I want you to want to stand beside me, instead of toe-to-toe all the time."

"I…" Really, it was the same thing he wanted, he just didn't have the first idea how to _do_ it. "Will you help me?"

Cas stared into his eyes and Dean held his breath. It left in a whoosh when Cas nodded slowly, stretching his neck up to start kissing him again.

The touch of Cas's body set his skin on fire and it occurred to his lust-fogged brain that he was going to get laid after all, fuck, he was going to come from just kissing and skin-on-skin, from being tender with someone. _Dean, you've got it bad_ , the voice in his head told him. Loudly. _Shut up, you fucker, I'm making sweet, sweet love here_ , he told it back. Cas was grinning into the kiss, as if he could hear Dean's thoughts. A wicked glint entered his eye and he reached between them, grabbing Dean's cock.

Cas had the same kinds of calluses he had, hands that wielded guns and pens nearly an equal amount. Cas's touch was gentle, at odds with the glint in his eyes. Almost too gentle, drawing out a mewling sound from Dean at each feather-light stroke of the rough fingers.

"Cas, _please_ ," Dean begged, truly begged, and something in Cas's expression shifted. His other hand came forward to pull Dean down by the neck for sloppy kisses with a lot of sucking on lips and tongues and it was totally a mess and totally perfect. Cas's thumb brushed against his slit, smearing pre-come over the head of Dean's cock and suddenly Cas was stroking him faster and harder. Dean began to black out at the lack of oxygen before he came with a guttural groan that was loud enough to wake the dead, collapsing on top of Cas.

Dean breathed heavily against Cas's neck, feeling Cas laugh softly beneath him. Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down at Cas's smirking face. As dry as his mouth was, it went even drier when Cas ran a finger through Dean's come, splashed over his thigh and stomach, and brought it up to his mouth. _Fuuuuuuck._

"If that's the way you're going to play this," Dean grumbled, "sit up."

Cas shot him a questioning look, but did as he was told, leaning back against the old wooden headboard. Dean took a breath, and knelt between his legs. _Should have stolen Ash's copy of "The Joy of Gay Sex."_

The cock was… not a particularly attractive appendage, Dean thought, considering the one before him. He unconsciously licked his lips, and Cas's hips stuttered forward. Dean threw him a glance. His face was flushed, his eyes intent on Dean's movements. Dean licked his lips again, slowly this time, and Cas whimpered. _Nice_. Dean leaned forward and ran an experimental tongue over the leaking head of Cas's cock, then sat back.

"Dean!" Cas hissed in exasperation, his eyes slightly bulging and a muscle in his jaw twitching. Dean had to laugh.

"Dude, I'm not going to leave you hanging."

He leaned forward again and locked his lips around Cas's cock. Cas, it turned out, was very much into encouragement during blowjobs. Dean spared a fleeting thought for poor Bobby and Sam, trying to hold a conversation or maybe even sleep, somewhere else in the house while Cas moaned and gasped and rocked against the headboard, drowning out Dean's slurping first attempts at a blowjob. It was quite the boost to his ego, having Cas fall completely to pieces as Dean sucked and licked his cock. And the encouragement was welcome because cock-sucking? Not going to go on Dean's list of five favorite things any time soon. Cas was heavy and hot in his mouth, and he tasted of salt and a slightly musky, bitter flavor, and Dean had to concentrate on not allowing him far enough inside to choke on him. Still, the texture of his skin felt good against his tongue, and he focused on that, licking along a nerve until he felt fingers gripping his hair. He pulled back just as Cas came with a loud grunt, come hitting him in the chin, neck and chest.

Cas flopped back onto the bed, breathing heavy, skin flushed. Dean drew a finger through the come on his chest and gave it a little lick. Yeah, definitely not one of his top five favorite activities, but getting that wide-eyed look from Cas? That was in there.

Chapter X  
I wrestled the devil, lived to testify

Three hours later, Dean woke with a start when Sam shook his shoulder.

"Sammy? What?" he croaked. Cas stirred in his arms, looking up at Sam with a question in his eyes.

"Shhh," Sam said. "Keep your voices down. Bobby says there's someone moving around outside."

Dean was fully awake now, and he scrambled over Cas to get out of bed. Sam averted his eyes as Dean searched for his pants. Cas reached for his boot cast, and Dean found his pants, too.

"What exactly did Bobby see? Where? Where's Bobby now?" Dean asked, shrugging on his shoulder holster, eschewing the shirt they'd used to clean themselves with earlier. Cas leaned on his arm to pull up his pants, then buckled on his own belt and gun.

"Here," Bobby answered from the doorway. He was carrying two shotguns and handed one over to Sam. John Winchester had taught Dean how to use a handgun, but even before that, Bobby had taught both boys how to respectfully handle a shotgun. Still, his stomach quivered at the sight of his brother's hands gripping the weapon. If he had anything to say about it, no way was Sammy going to have to fire the thing. "There's a man outside. Wanted to be seen, if you ask me, but he's staying out of the circle of light, just on the edge."

"Huh. What do you say we turn on the floodlights, then?"

"Works for me." Bobby made to lead the way, but Dean blocked him with his arm. He couldn't recall the last time Bobby'd climbed the stairs, but his bum leg must have been killing him. And it was safer upstairs.

"Shotguns stay upstairs," Dean told him, using his person of authority voice on him. Which made him feel half a fool, as he was with the three people in the world who were least likely to react to it, but he needed the assurance it provided. "Sammy, that goes for you, too. You look out the back, Bobby the front – see if you can get a hold of Rufus first and start getting some backup out here – and Cas and I will go see who's come to call."

"Be _careful_ , Dean. You know Ellen will skin us alive if you so much as break a nail," Sam said, hoisting the shotgun and moving to the back of the room. The look he shot Dean, though, told him clearly that his little brother knew exactly what he'd been thinking. Dean turned away before he said anything that could be taken out of context later. After they got through… whatever this was.

Bobby clasped his arm and moved into the front bedroom. Cas followed close on Dean's heels down the stairs, his boot cast thumping along.

The porch, garage and shed lights were all on, creating pools of white light in the darkness. Turning on the floodlights would bathe the entire yard in light as bright as day. He caught Cas's eye and nodded at the switch, then crossed over to the front window, using the wall as a buffer and peering through the cracks in the blinds. Cas flicked the switch.

Light poured into the yard, filling every nook and cranny and causing the man who'd tried to use the night as a cloak to blister the air with foul language. It was Crowley.

"Smooth move, Crowley!" Dean yelled out. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Turn off your blasted lights! It's almost like you're trying to get me killed here," Crowley called back, blinking rapidly.

"Nah, I'm just going to arrest your ass."

Crowley was going to make a witty comeback, Dean could see it on his face, but a gun fired from behind a pile of car parts and the bullet sent up a spray of dirt at his feet. Crowley squealed like a rabbit and ran for the porch, bullets cutting holes into Bobby's yard as they chased him.

"Let me in, you son of a poxy whore!" he yelled, fists pounding on the front door. _Poxy whore?_ Dean exchanged a look with Cas. He looked like he'd rather chew nails, but he gave a miniscule nod and yanked open the door. Crowley stumbled in, and Cas slammed it shut again.

Dean grabbed Crowley by the neck and punched him in the face. It felt awesome, so he did it again.

"You fucking leave my mother out of this, scumbag!" He hauled back to punch Crowley a third time, but Cas caught his arm.

"Dean, enough." His fingers were warm on Dean's wrist, a quick squeeze to convey his commiseration, but his attention was on Crowley. "Who is trying to kill you now? Did you bring Lilith here?"

Crowley yanked himself out of Dean's loosened grip and brushed at his waistcoat, attempting to restore his bruised dignity.

"Of course it's Lilith!" he said scathingly. "Nasty piece of work, that one," he continued under his breath. "I don't know what I ever did to her, except steal all her money and set her up to fail in front of all her followers."

"Yeah, that might have something to do with it," Dean said angrily. "Why the hell did you come _here_? You want cop protection, you don't come to our fucking homes!"

"I didn't come to see _you_ , you arrogant twat!" He turned his back on Dean and fixed Cas with a silky smile. "Agent James. How are things going with you at work, hmmm? Still persona non grata? Looking for an 'in' with Zachariah Adler, something that will make you a bigger man on campus than Raphael Finnerman?"

Dean's blood threatened to over boil. He couldn't stop himself from slamming Crowley back up against the wall. "We're not making deals with you, Crowley. Might as well sell our damn souls to the devil. There's only one way you're getting out of this mess alive, and that's if you tell us exactly what is waiting outside this door!"

"Dean!" Sam yelled from upstairs. "I can see three men in dark clothes coming out of the woods!"

"I've got three more hiding by the barn," Bobby called down.

"The remnants of Lilith's grand unification," Crowley murmured.

Dean narrowed his eyes and abruptly let Crowley go. "No," he said. "That's not who you're hiding from."

"Dean?" Cas asked.

He was right, he had to be. A bead of flop sweat rolled down Crowley's face.

"Crowley's not afraid of Lilith," Dean stated.

Cas frowned and looked the drug dealer up and down. "He is exhibiting physical reactions to fear."

"Oh, he's fucking terrified, all right," Dean agreed. Crowley glared at him. Dean bared his teeth right back. "Who's coming for you?"

The doorbell rang.

Someone upstairs yelped. It sounded like Sam. Crowley closed his eyes, and Cas turned to look at the door as if it had grown tentacles.

"Bobby?" Dean yelled up the stairs.

"Ain't no one set foot on the porch since we been here!"

Fuck a duck.

The doorbell rang again.

"A bit late for a social call," Dean said, raising his voice.

"It is no more rude than leaving a lady waiting," Lilith responded, her voice muffled by heavy oak.

Dean and Cas looked at each other. "I don't know, Cas," Dean whispered. "This is fucked up."

"The men outside are just standing there," Sam shouted down.

"Mine, too. Idjits."

"Okay," Dean decided. "Crowley, you stand there," he said, shoving him back against the banister, "and, Lilith, you come in with your arms raised."

"How gentlemanly."

Cas unlocked the door and pulled it open, keeping his gun trained on Lilith as she walked inside.

Dean's nostrils flared at the sight of her and he had to keep a tight rein on his emotions to prevent himself from shooting her on principle. Lilith and Crowley, the two people that had passed like hurricanes through his life over the past few weeks, were both right there in front of him, trying to act as if Bobby's foyer was precisely where they wanted to be. Dean's trigger finger itched.

"You could have saved yourself a lot of pain, Detective, if you had just told Alistair that Crowley was here," Lilith reprimanded him, her voice cool and clipped. She turned to survey Cas, ignoring his gun and running an appraising eye over his bare chest. "This is your lover, then. I suppose I can see why you did not prefer getting a replacement."

"I don't want you fucking looking at him," Dean snarled. "I don't want you in this house." Cas was already moving towards the closet, where his trench coat had hung since Dean and Bobby had driven him back from the hospital a week ago, and presumably his handcuffs were still in the pockets. "We're arresting the both of you, and you're going to call off your dogs and wait here for the squad car to come take you away."

He had zero faith that they would go, quietly or otherwise, and only a five percent hope that he and Cas could even get cuffs on them, but they had to at least try. Strangely enough, when Cas pulled the cuffs from his coat pocket, Crowley held out his hands. Cas shook his head and twisted Crowley around until he could cuff the other man's hands behind his back. Lilith took a step away from him as Cas quietly read Crowley his rights.

"I don't know what game Crowley is playing, but surely even you are not dense enough to trust him," she said.

"Like you trusted him?" Dean asked innocently. "Turn around."

" _No_. I have men outside, Detective, have you forgotten them?"

"Hell, no. But they're outside, and we're in here. And as much as it pains me to say this, I'm not letting you leave here with Crowley. You need him alive, don't you? Well, he's under arrest now, so you'll just have to wait your turn."

Lilith sneered and opened her mouth, but Dean never found out what she was going to say then, as both Sam and Bobby yelled from upstairs at the same time.

"Dean! Dudes from the woods are dropping like flies!"

"Men by the barn just keeled over, what the hell is going on down there?!"

Lilith's entire demeanor changed. "We don't have time to argue over this," she said, her tongue tripping over her words. With her eyes so wide, she looked almost young and innocent. "We need to get far away from this place, right now!"

"What is it, what's out there?" Dean demanded.

"Not what, who," Crowley said. Dean gave him a sharp glance. The man looked almost calm.

"Then _who_?" Dean asked. Crowley just gave him an enigmatic smile. "Do you guys see someone else out there?" Dean yelled up the stairs.

"No – yes! Holy crap, Dean, it's that woman who tried to kill me in Chinatown!"

"Ruby," Cas breathed. He and Dean exchanged a look. They owed Ruby a taking-down.

"I've got one out front," Bobby called. "Tall dude, facial scarring."

Lilith moaned. "It's too late, we're all going to die!" Her voice started low and rose to a fever pitch by the end. She looked to be developing a full-blown case of the hysterics.

"Pull yourself together; you call yourself a criminal overlord?" Dean said roughly.

"Was never hers," Crowley said. He'd recovered all the aplomb it appeared Lilith had lost, standing at ease in the foyer looking for all the world like it was his own desire that kept his hands cuffed together behind his back.

"What do you mean?" Cas asked, eyes narrowed.

"I mean, the king has returned. And he's not going to be too happy that his princess tried to steal his crown. Nasty temper he has. You remember your father's black moods, don't you, Lilith?"

Lilith began to hyperventilate.

"Are they still coming towards the house?" Dean yelled up to Sam and Bobby.

"No!" _Sam_.

"No, he's just standing there looking creepy." _Bobby_.

"Okay. We're going out to the porch," Dean decided.

"Before we do," Crowley said, "just to reiterate – I have been taken into your custody?"

"Uh, yeah, Einstein, you're in police custody," Dean answered, frowning.

Crowley seemed to take a strange comfort from that, and submitted easily to Cas leadinghim away by the arm. Lilith was a bit more problematic. Her fist had collided with Dean's jaw and chest before he could subdue her enough to drag her kicking and screaming out to the porch. He held her wrists in an iron grip as he trained his gun on the new man.

The floodlights did the man – Lilith's father, presumably – no favors. He was sickly pale, a result of his many years incarcerated, and Dean spared a thought to wonder how he could have escaped. The scars on his face were still oozing. Dean felt bile rise in his throat. The man's eyes were locked on Lilith, but when Dean cleared his throat to be heard over her tantrum, the man's light-colored eyes focused on him instead.

"So, Lucifer, father of Lilith – shouldn't someone be missing you about now?"

"Other than my darling daughter?" His voice was a bit of a surprise – smooth, soft and cultured. Dean had to strain to hear him. "Hmmm. Lilith and Crowley together. Interesting."

"Oh, it's a boring story, really," Crowley said quickly. "A classic – she just wants me for my money. _Your_ money, pardons, which I've been diligently saving for your triumphant return."

Lilith stopped her fit long enough to give him a disgusted look. "You're a fucking worm, Crowley!" she spat out.

"Language, Lilith," Lucifer said mildly. "We do not befoul our tongues with curses."

"Just everything else?" Dean asked. Cas deliberately shifted and stepped on his foot. He really needed to learn a bit of self-censorship.

"Hmm. You are unimportant, and half-dressed, besides." Lucifer dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "The lawyer. I'd like to see him."

"What? Fuck no!" Dean flushed red in anger and embarrassment. "And keep your hands where I can see them!" he yelled as Lucifer made to put his hands in his coat pockets.

Lucifer held his arms out in a parody of a hug. "I have no weapons. But you will let me speak to the lawyer, or else my most trusted lieutenant will end his life right now."

Fear pierced Dean's heart, a sharp stab. A shotgun sounded from the back of the house. "Sam!" Dean roared. "Tell me you're fine!"

The shotgun sounded again, once more. Someone was yelling inside, voice muffled by the house, but it sounded like Sam. Dean didn't even think, just ran full-out to the door. Lilith slipped from his grasp and he didn't even care. He was leaving Cas alone with three criminals, but Cas had Bobby for backup and Dean had to trust them, that couldn't stop him, he _had_ to protect Sam. A cracking noise sounded from the house, and Dean practically flew.

The screen door rebounded back from the wall with a loud smack, and Sam came stumbling down the stairs. Dean skidded to a stop at his side, reaching out to haul him up, his gun falling uselessly from his hands. Lilith was screaming behind him, Cas's gun went off, followed by the other shotgun – Bobby, still at the front of the house.

"Sam?" Dean asked. He felt sick to his stomach. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean – my shotgun – she shot it out of my hands!"

His hands were scraped and bleeding, Dean noticed, but he had no time to wrap them, or anything to use as bandages, before a woman's voice interrupted them.

"You have to listen to him," Ruby said, stepping out onto the porch. A whip was coiled loosely in her hands, hence the cracking noise from earlier. There was no sign of Bobby. Dean scrambled in the dirt for his gun and pointed it at her, shoving Sam behind him.

"Cas!" Dean called, raising his voice. "You okay?" He wanted to look over there, but that meant taking his eyes off Ruby and her whip. "Cas?!"

"The situation has detiorated," Cas's voice rumbled back to him. Dean risked a glance.

Lucifer held a bloody shiv, like prisoners would make, and Lilith knelt at his feet, her fingers stained red with the blood seeping slowly across her midsection. Crowley was crouched behind Cas, awkwardly trying to clutch at his foot. He'd been shot, by Cas, most like, and was moaning a string of curses.

"Put down your weapon," Cas commanded, training his gun on Lilith's father. Lucifer slowly raised his eyes from his dying daughter to stare at Cas. Goosebumps rose all along Dean's arms at the pure malevolence that showed in Lucifer's gaze. He knew before Lucifer even moved exactly what he was going to do.

"Cas, duck!" Dean yelled. The shiv flew through the air even as Cas fired, as Ruby's whip lashed out and hit Cas's gun down. Dean ran forward, firing his own weapon as Sam tackled Ruby to the ground. Two of Dean's bullets hit Lucifer in the chest.

The man fell back with a loud "Oof!" as Dean reached Cas. Cas had moved at Dean's warning, just enough to the side that the shiv was lodged in his bicep instead of his chest. Pain clouded his eyes and his hands were bloodied from Ruby's whip, but he'd be okay. Dean fell to his knees and pulled him gingerly into an embrace, kissing him hungrily, reassuring himself.

"Dean," Cas tried to say, pushing at him gently. "Dean. He's wearing a vest."

"Shit," Dean murmured against the other man's lips. He hurriedly let Cas go and shifted on his knees until he was facing Lucifer and trained his gun on him. Over by the house, Sam had subdued Ruby and was straddling her hips, her wrists pinned to her sides by his knees. He gave Dean a strangely jaunty thumbs up, completely unaware of the picture he presented. Crowley was still bemoaning his wounded foot behind them and Lilith looked dead as a doornail off to the side.

Lucifer slowly sat up.

"Hold it right there!" Dean barked. Lucifer ignored him. His eyes had focused on Sam and Ruby.

"Mr. Winchester," he said in his soft, silky voice. "I have been hoping to speak to you about my unfortunate institutionalization."

"Don't listen to him, Sammy!" Dean barked.

Lucifer continued to ignore him. "The state of Maryland declared me insane almost twenty years ago. That does a horrible thing to one's self-esteem. Not to mention one's prospects as a potential employer."

"Shut up, Lucifer, and put your hands in the air!" Dean commanded. He didn't have any cuffs on him, but he'd think of something. He rose to his feet, keeping his gun on Lucifer, and offered a hand down to Cas, hauling him carefully up.

"I want you to re-open my case, and arrange for my legitimate release." Lucifer paid them not a whit of attention, focusing his pale gaze purely on Sam.

"I don't have that kind of authority," Sam protested.

"I can get it for you," Lucifer promised. "You do this thing for me, I do this thing for you – this is how it works."

"No fucking way, Lucifer," Dean said angrily, stalking forward, Cas at his side.

"Dean's right." Sam shifted uncomfortably on his perch. "A, I can't re-open your case. And B, you still seem crazy to me. You broke out! And C, you just knifed your daughter!"

"Ah. I thought you might say that. Ruby."

Ruby tugged her left hand free, reached into her inner jacket pocket, and pulled out a capped needle.

"Sam! Get away from her!" Dean screamed, sudden panic making his voice higher-pitched than normal. How the hell did Ruby get the missing Niveus vial?

Sam looked at him, startled, but before he could move, Ruby had grabbed his ankle and flipped the cap off the needle.

"You _will_ re-open my case," Lucifer said calmly. "Or you will die. I am already manufacturing more of this delightful little drug. Isn't that right, Crowley? With all of the money you've been saving for me?"

"Of course! My fucking foot," Crowley muttered. "Fucking Homeland Security."

Dean could practically feel Cas's desire to strangle the cuffed man with his bare hands, but he was still focused on Ruby.

"Put your gun down, Winchester," she said. "I see your finger move, and mine does, too. Would be a shame to lose your brother over this."

Sam's eyes were huge. "Dean–"

"No. Don't argue with me, Sam." Dean interrupted him. There was movement by the smoking shed, behind Lucifer, out of Ruby's line of sight as she concentrated on him. He said a silent prayer that Bobby's aim was as good as it'd been when he was younger and teaching them the shotguns. "I'm putting my gun down now."

"Wise decision," Ruby complimented him. She let go of Sam's foot and the crack of a shotgun echoed through the yard. Ruby went boneless, the needle falling from lifeless fingers as Sam leaped back. Dean ran forward for the vial even as Lucifer roared, surging off his knees to make his own grab for the poison.

Lilith stopped him. Blood leaked from her mouth, trickling down her chin to join the huge mess of her chest, but she held Cas's gun, the gun Ruby had hit with her whip, and pointed it at her father.

Cas hissed and shoved Dean roughly aside, the re-capped needle now in his hands, as Lilith said, "Goodbye, Father," and fired.

"Down!" Cas barreled into Sam and the three of them went down in a heap as Cas's broken gun exploded in Lilith's hands. The bullet tore into Lucifer's face, and pieces of gun embedded themselves in his neck and his suddenly useless Kevlar vest. Lilith got the brunt of the blast and fell back, her face destroyed.

Dean blinked as the smoke cleared. Father and daughter looked weirdly symmetrical with the ruins of the faces and bloody blond hair. He looked quickly away. He didn't need anymore nightmares.

Bobby came hobbling up from the shed, grimacing. "Did I kill her?"

"I'm sorry, Bobby, but yeah," Dean told him. He wasn't sorry at all that Ruby had died, just that Bobby had been needed to accomplish the deed instead of him. The old man didn't deserve that on his conscience. "If it's any solace, she had big plans to be a mass murderer."

"Speaking of which," Cas said, wincing in pain. It looked like the shiv had been lodged even deeper into his arm after all their leaping to avoid explosions. "Dean, Crowley."

He nodded after Crowley, awkwardly trying to hobble away. Dean tackled him to ground with savage glee.

***

The cleanup took forever. Dean was incredibly grateful for his brother's presence there. Sam was good at dealing with people, from Gabriel and Balthazar to Anna to Rufus and Henriksen. Dean had to make his own report to Henriksen. He felt bad leaving Rufus with the new contingent from Frederick's County, but Bobby knew them, and Sheriff Mills even came out in the middle of the night to help with things and take charge of the disposal of the bodies. Lucifer and Ruby had racked up quite the body count, going through Lilith's men to reach the farm house, most of which Sam and Bobby hadn't even seen.

Dean spoke with Henriksen in the waiting room of the ER in Frederick while Cas got the shiv removed and the wound sewn up. Dean wondered how many times he'd be waiting in a hospital for Cas, and vice versa. Instead of depressing him, the thought made him strangely warm. And at least this time he'd be able to take him home right away. Things could have gone so much worse.

Dean's weirdly buoyant mood lasted until Henriksen drove them back to the farmhouse. Yellow police tape blocked off huge swaths of the yard and porch. Sam was outside, leaning against the Impala, waiting for them.

"Dean," he said, hurrying over as Henriksen cut the engine and Dean helped Cas out of the backseat. "Major Henriksen. DHS took Crowley away."

"Not again!" Dean groaned.

"What?"Henriksen's eyes cut to Cas's exhausted face. "Crowley was Dean's collar. No offense to Agent James, but he's currently suspended. Crowley should be in our custody."

"Well," Sam hedged. "He was wearing Cas's handcuffs, and Cas was the one to read him his rights."

"Yeah, and I bet Crowley made a stink about that, too," Dean said, his empty hand forming a fist. "Probably thinks he can cut a better deal with Raphael!"

"We do need Crowley to tell us where Lucifer was manufacturing the drug," Cas rasped. The sun was just starting to peek above the tree line, and the dawn light highlighted the crow's feet around Cas's eyes. He looked like he'd spent the night wrestling a bear and lost.

"Jesus, Cas, he was bluffing!" Dean exclaimed.

"You can't know that for sure," Cas argued back.

"When did he have the time, huh? Crowley hadn't even seen Lucifer for years, he was scared shitless of him!"

It was the strangest argument Dean had ever had. He still had an arm around Cas's waist and was the only thing propping him up. Cas's hands were fisted in the blue scrub shirt Dean had been given at the hospital, hanging on for dear life. Sam and Henriksen watched them argue back and forth, Sam anxious and Henriksen a thundercloud.

"Ruby," Cas muttered. "Ruby," he repeated, louder. "She was in Lilith's inner circle. She could have made a separate deal with Brady, gotten some drugs out for Lucifer. We don't know who killed him. He was a loose end, Ruby could have snipped him."

"Crowley did that!"

"We only think Crowley did that. And even if the additional drugs turn out to be a smokescreen, who knows what other information can be gleaned from Crowley?"

Dean took a step back and Cas stumbled before righting himself, Dean's hand still on his waist. "So. DHS has the guy, and you're going to go back to them?"

"You're being childish, Dean," Cas said, his face darkening.

"Childish. Yeah, that's me. Hey, Sam," he didn't look away from Cas's face as he called to his brother, "would you do me a favor and drive Agent James back to DHS?"

"Dean–" Sam protested.

"I would appreciate it, Sam," Cas cut him off.

"What? Dude, what about Raphael?" Sam asked, his eyes bugging out a bit.

"Raphael won't be a problem. I brought Crowley into custody, didn't !?"

He staggered forward and took Sam by the arm, forcibly leading him to the Prius.

"Winchester," Henriksen said quietly, "are you really going to let your partner walk alone into the lion's den?"

Dean cut his eyes at him. "You heard what he said."

Henriksen snorted. "I didn't get to be commander of our precinct by listening just to men's _words_."

The lights came on in the Prius and Sam shifted into Drive. Dean watched the tail lights bounce down Bobby's dirt lane to the main road. Eventually Henriksen shrugged.

"Have it your way, Winchester. I'll see you at the office later this morning. We have a jurisdiction battle to wage." He clapped Dean on the shoulder and left, following Sam and Cas down the road.

Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table when Dean got inside, feet dragging. An open bottle of tequila sat in the center of the table. Dean sank wordlessly into the chair opposite Bobby. Bobby didn't say anything, just poured.

"Bobby," Dean said, eyeing the pale amber liquor in his tumbler. "I'm a fucking moron."

He downed the drink in one gulp.

***

Three days later, Dean sat at a red light on Wisconsin, Sam in the passenger seat beside him. Things had been a little strained between them since the night of the attack, and were just now starting to get back to normal with Dean's announcement that he'd be taking some leave to go up to Rufus's family's cabin in the mountains for some much-needed R&R. That first morning after, Sam had stiffly reported to him that Raphael had been temporarily suspended pending an investigation by the time Sam and Cas had arrived at DHS. Gabriel and Balthazar had welcomed Cas back with open arms. Dean heard from Chuck that Crowley was proving a slippery witness. Thus far, his information had not lead to any further caches from Niveus. The knowledge was cold consolation.

"So Ballard called me into her office this morning," Sam said suddenly.

"Shit. What did – was it about…" Dean twisted around in his seat to look at his brother and was surprised to see a small smile on Sam's face.

"She asked me how I liked Baltimore."

"Okaaaaay…"

"Because she's recommending me to transfer to the DA's office," Sam finished in a rush.

"Well, that's awesome! Way to go, Sammy," Dean said, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Just think, Dean, you're out there catching criminals, and now I'll get to be in the courtroom, putting them away. A Winchester team effort," Sam said, bouncing slightly in the passenger seat.

"We'll be like the Dukes of Hazard. We've even got Jo for Cousin Daisy."

Sam made a face, and Dean laughed.

"Not the Dukes of Hazard, then, eh Sammy? You thinking something more square, like the Hardy Boys, and Jo is Nancy Drew?"

"Hmph," Sam huffed, but he was smiling as he looked out the window. "Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew." He glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye. "So where does Cas fit in?"

Dean flushed slightly. "Cas isn't family."

"He's not, Dean?"

Dean twitched his shoulders, cracking a muscle, and sighed. "I don't know."

"I think that's something you should figure out, then," Sam said after a moment.

Dean grunted in response. "It's just, this thing with Crowley…"

"I was pissed for you, too, Dean," Sam said. "But that wasn't Cas's fault."

"I know," Dean said quietly.

They drove in silence until they reached Sam's apartment. Sarah was waiting on the front stoop and waved when Dean pulled over.

"I'm taking Sarah to Aunt Ellen's Sunday night dinner while you're away," Sam said.

"Damn, Sam, you're growing up all over the place today," Dean teased him.

"Yeah, well, I _am_ bigger than you, Dean. Try not to burn the cabin down." Sam opened the door and got out, slamming the door behind him.

"Hey! Careful of my baby!"

Sam leaned back in through the window. "See you in a couple weeks?"

"'Course."

"You'll call me every day, right?" And there it was, that note of anxiousness that always crept into Sam's voice when they were going to be spending time apart. Not that Sam would be biting his pillow and moping while his big brother was away, but Dean was still a little glad to know that he was needed and loved by at least one person. It didn't stop him from rolling his eyes.

"You're a fucking mother hen, you know that, right? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll call you." He grinned. "Go make out with your girl for me."

"Pig," Sam said fondly and pulled his head out of the car and slapped the trunk. Dean honked, and winked at Sarah, before pulling back into traffic.

He was stopped at a red light on Connecticut when a flash of khaki caught his eye. It wasn't just that he didn't want to go alone, however unnatural it felt to be starting off for a road trip by himself, the wide front seat of the Impala stretching empty beside him. He could go back and ask Sam to go with him, and Sam would. He'd make an excuse to Sarah, put off his meeting in Baltimore, and go just because Dean asked. And they'd have a great time, too. But Dean had been with Sam for almost thirty years. As Sam had said, it was time to expand the circle.

He'd wanted to take Cas to this cabin for weeks now. And the only thing that was stopping him was his need to see everything in black and white, to fit Cas into a neatly labeled box. He'd known since their first meeting that that would be difficult. It had just taken a long time to realize that it was also impossible, that it shouldn't even be attempted. The light changed, and he turned left.

He found Cas at the first place he looked, Chuck's house.

Cas was alone in the kitchen, sitting at the table going through a box of files. Chuck led Dean wordlessly into the room and backed out, grabbing a bottle of tequila as he slunk off. Cas looked up, face impassive.

"I told you once that I'd disappoint you," Dean said. He cleared his throat. He should have stopped for a drink of water, or something stronger. "And you said that I should apologize, and you'd forgive me." His throat was threatening to close up. He took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Cas. I should have trusted you. I should have gone with you."

Cas tilted his head at him, the familiar action causing Dean's eyes to water.

"You should have," he agreed. "But I should have asked. I am also sorry for going back to DHS. I tendered my resignation this afternoon."

"You – what?"

"I am leaving DHS. It is no longer the place I want to be." He stood up, posture stiff, and Dean noticed for the first time that the boot was finally off his leg. "Dean. What does your apology mean?"

"It means… I want you to come with me to this cabin in the mountains. I want to, I don't know, sit around a campfire and talk about feelings."

"That sounds hellish."

Dean burst out laughing. "Yeah, it does. God, Cas, never change, will you?"

"I don't intend to. I'm still angry at you, Dean, but I'm very happy you came back." He stared into Dean's eyes, his own eyes guarded, but Dean could see in them a spark of something he hadn't managed to extinguish, no matter how hard he had pushed.

"Come with me to the cabin," Dean said again. "I want to sit beside you on the dock."

Cas smiled. "That sounds… good."

 

Epilogue  
I'll never get out of your love alive

They got up each morning before the sun rose. It was colder in the the mountains, and they bundled up in flannel shirts and wool socks, workman's boots and barn jackets and jeans, and hiked in silence down the hill to the lake. Their boots clunked across the dock, _stomp, stomp, stomp_ reverberating along the wood. Birds and frogs called sleepily to each other as they sat at the end of the dock, leaning against opposite posts, and cast their lines out into the lake.

Sometimes they caught something, and Cas would cook it after Dean cleaned and prepared it. They sat around their campfire at dusk in companionable silence and never talked about their feelings, though Dean certainly felt them. He couldn't believe he'd almost given this up, the calm assurance of knowing Cas had his back, the intensity of Cas's gaze, the warmth of his regard. It was heady and grounding at the same time, the contradiction finally making sense in Dean's mind only after everything they'd gone through.

They didn't talk about the past. No mention of Crowley and his manipulative ways; no dwelling on the deaths of Meg, Ruby, Lilith, Alistair and Lucifer; no tears over what became of Uriel or the murder of Rachel. Instead they talked about the future, tentatively at first, then with greater purpose as the days went on.

If waking up next to Cas at Bobby's had shown Dean a glimpse of what he could have, waking up together at the cabin began to fill in the blanks. They adapted easily to the shared space, moving in tandem as they dressed and headed down to the dock in the morning, returning sometime after sunrise for morning sex and a nap.

Some mornings Dean knelt on the wooden floor and took Cas into his mouth. He was growing to like it, mainly because of the way Cas cradled his head, his beautiful fingers carding through Dean's hair or gently coaxing his jaw to open wider, always with breathless encouragement and effusive praise as Dean swallowed him down. Cas always looked a little stunned afterwards and watched Dean move about the cabin on the most mundane tasks with awe in his eyes. It made Dean want to do it more, until no morning went by without Dean wrapping his lips around Cas's cock and sucking at the velvety soft skin along the shaft until Cas came in his mouth.

Lying in bed after their mid-morning nap was when they talked. Eventually they would have to go back to the District, and Cas needed to find another job.

"What else do you like to do?" Dean asked one morning, realizing he didn't know if Cas had any hobbies, other than chess.

Cas was quiet. His hair stuck up in sweaty tufts still from when he'd gone under the covers to wake Dean up by massaging Dean's prostate with his tongue. It had worked spectacularly well.

"I like protecting people," Cas said finally. "I don't want to do anything else."

"Really? No secret desire to travel the world, singing in karoke competitions?"

Cas looked startled for a moment, then smiled. "I sing off-key."

"Mmm. What about cooking? You make a mean charbroiled fish."

"That's about the only thing I _can_ cook."

"I hate to break it to you, Cas, but I think you're fucked. It's law enforcement or fucking me, and I don't pay with money."

Cas raised his eyebrows. "I like the way you pay."

"Prove it."

Cas did have hobbies, of course, but as much as Dean enjoyed listening to Cas read him a book of Italian poetry, he didn't think 'poetry-reader' was a viable option for a career. No, Anna and the FBI was probably his best bet. Cas seemed to realize it, too, and made several calls to Gabriel and Balthazar, still friendly despite Cas's resignation, before taking a deep breath and calling Anna. Dean gave him his privacy for the phone call.

That night they went down to the dock in the pitch dark and spread their coats over the rough wood. They undressed slowly, shivering in the cool air. Dean pulled Cas on top of him and brushed his lips over Cas's collarbone and gently ran his tongue along the puckered skin where Lucifer's shiv had lodged in Cas's bicep. It was going to be a totally badass scar. Dean wanted to tattoo around it, some symbol that stood for protection and also conveyed that Cas was his and he'd break the face of anyone who dared try to hurt him ever again.

He didn't know a symbol for that which could be written on Cas's skin, but he knew one he could show Cas. He reached down and pulled Cas inside of him. He was loose and slick from the many times they'd done this over the past week. Cas settled fully into him with a contented sigh.

It was dark out, a nearly unbroken black, slightly overcast with a new moon in the sky. The dark night didn't bother Dean. He could feel Cas inside him, smell him all around him, hear his panting breaths. He propped himself up on one elbow and groaned at the change in angle. Cas was hitting his prostate on each thrust while raining kisses on every bit of Dean's skin he could reach. Dean could see the whites of his eyes, the glint of his teeth, the pale glow of his skin. Cas provided just enough light to see by during the deep dark of night.

Dean held on tight.


End file.
